


Pride of Place

by notcrypticbutcoy



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: (discussed), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Getting Together, Homophobia (discussed), Mental Health Issues, Microaggressions, Multi, Pride, Small Towns, Trans Magnus Bane, Transphobia (discussed)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:54:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 72,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24499000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notcrypticbutcoy/pseuds/notcrypticbutcoy
Summary: When Magnus and Clary make the choice to press pause on their life in the city and move to a tiny little countryside town, they’re in for a culture shock. But the residents of Stickwick are more than happy to help out - and if some of them are really very pretty, well. That’s just a bonus.Or: in which everyone is gay (everyone), small towns have their advantages, and Magnus and Clary should really learn to read the guidebooks.***{Malec and Clizzy centric. A prompt-fill fic for Pride Month 2020}
Relationships: Clary Fray/Isabelle Lightwood, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Meliorn/Jace Herondale, Simon Lewis/Raphael Santiago
Comments: 434
Kudos: 383





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Have Pride](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7061269) by [notcrypticbutcoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notcrypticbutcoy/pseuds/notcrypticbutcoy). 



> Some shameless self-promo! Four years ago, I wrote [Have Pride](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7061269), and I always sort of forget that it exists, despite it being probably my favourite thing I’ve ever written. I had so much fun doing it - writing and posting a chapter a day during Pride, writing a story that is just saturated with LGBT characters, and writing from a list of really random Pride-themed prompts - that, as we’re in lockdown and I’ve got the time this year, for the first time since 2016, I thought I’d try it again. 
> 
> It’s not the same universe as Have Pride, or a sequel (although I did consider that), but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.
> 
> And, when I say everyone is gay...I mean everyone. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ this is entirely self-indulgent.
> 
> Prompt: small town

Stickwick Village, a hundred and fifty miles away from the big city that Magnus had always called home, greeted them with weak sunshine and such an overwhelming stench of farmyard that Clary demanded he roll up all the windows of the car _immediately_.

Magnus winced as his Audi’s road-suited tyres clunked over cracks in a road that better resembled a dirt track. He’d already scratched the paintwork on the wing-mirrors coming in along a narrow, seemingly-endless road that was enveloped on all sides by trees and terrifying bushes with sharp leaves. 

“ _You have reached your destination_ ,” the SatNav told them, in its tinny, robotic voice. The first time it had said that, fifteen minutes ago, it was telling them to turn right into a very large tree that had reminded Magnus of the Whomping Willow in Harry Potter.

“No we bloody haven’t,” Magnus muttered, braking to let his car roll through what looked less like a puddle and more like a small lake in the middle of the road. “We’re in a fucking river.”

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” Clary said, squinting down at the map. 

From the corner of his eye, Magnus could see that she was reading it upside-down. She shoved red curls back from her face in clear irritation, before making an ‘ahah!’ sound. 

“Turn left,” she said, pointing straight ahead. 

“Where?” Magnus asked, glancing in his rear-view mirror on instinct to see who was behind him. Nobody was, of course. They were in some tiny, deserted little village that showed no signs of life. 

Well. No human signs, anyway. They’d passed about a thousand pigs, cows, horses, and goats.

“There,” Clary said, altering the trajectory of her finger to point instead at a hedge. “After the postbox.”

“You want me to drive into a hedge? You’re as bad as her.” He jerked his chin at the offensive SatNav, which was now bleating _turn around when possible!_ over and over again. “Turn the map up the right way.”

“No, Magnus– There!”

Hidden behind a truly enormous outgrowth of fern, there was indeed a dirt track that led down to somebody’s back yard. Magnus stopped at the turning point, though his every instinct was telling him that he could not just stop his car in the middle of the road lest he unleash a cacophony of angry drivers honking their horns behind him, and peered down the track dubiously. 

No horns sounded, of course. Because there was no evidence of another living soul for miles around.

“Is that definitely it? Because I don’t want my first act in this village to be trespassing, and these people don’t seem to be very good at maintaining their fences.”

“That’s it.” Clary frowned. “It looked bigger when I was a kid.”

“Well.” Magnus released the handbrake and eyed the incline with suspicion. He had a feeling he’d be buying himself a different car soon. His automatic wasn’t going to enjoy that hill. “We’re not staying here forever. It’ll do.”

After a precarious descent, Magnus pulled up beside a large barn that looked a storm away from tumbling down, and climbed out. The landlady had left the key in a lockbox, as promised, and it only took Magnus three tries and a hard shove with his shoulder to force the back door open. 

“I don’t think I’m built for the countryside anymore,” Clary said sadly, peering down at her pale blue Converse, which looked very out of place against the muddy ground. “Does it smell of farm inside, too?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Magnus said, eyeing the peeling paintwork on the door.

He clicked the button on his car keys to open the boot. The car, like Clary’s shoes, didn’t blend into the backdrop of sheep and hills and mud. “Let’s get the bags and take a look.”

The cottage was very quaint but very cold, despite the fact that it was only October. Magnus regretted kicking his shoes off in the hallway the moment the chill of the tiles bit in through his socks. At least he wasn’t so tall that he hit his head on the low-hanging wooden beams that traversed cream-painted ceilings. 

They made their way through the living room, occupied by several sofas overloaded with cushions and a lampshade that Magnus took as a personal insult, and entered the kitchen. The window took up most of one wall, letting them look out onto the rolling hills of the English countryside—and, of course, several sheep off in the distance.

At least the front of the house was much nicer than the back, Magnus thought, inspecting the lightly polished oak of the kitchen table and the intricately decorated vase in its centre. The kitchen seemed like the kind of place it would be soothing to be in.

And god knew he needed somewhere like that.

“I wonder who lives over there?” Clary asked, from where she was leaning against the counter and looking out of a smaller window facing to the right. “There are tyre tracks in the driveway, so it can’t be empty.”

“Do you mean we might actually have a neighbour who’s not a four-legged farm animal?” Magnus asked, glancing in her direction. “I hope they’re nice.”

Their exploration of upstairs took mere minutes, with Clary announcing that she wanted the larger bedroom. Which was just fine, in Magnus’ book, because it faced east, so she’d be woken earlier by the sun. 

At least there were no cockerels. Small mercies.

“Well,” Magnus said, stepping back into the kitchen. “I suppose we should go and find out where the nearest supermarket is. Do they have a supermarket here? Did we check? Did we actually think through anything before making the foolish decision to move here?”

“No,” Clary said, laughing. “But hey. Isn’t that the whole point?”

“There’s WiFi, at least,” Magnus observed, jerking his chin at the little modem plugged in in the hallway. “I’m sure it’ll just about manage to send a WhatsApp message.”

“I think there’s a supermarket in town,” Clary said, ignoring Magnus in favour of flicking through the papers she’d printed out from the Internet, because she, unlike Magnus, had semi-prepared for their excursion. “It’s a twenty minute drive.”

“Did we pass it on the way in?”

“Probably,” Clary admitted, sounding far too cheerful. She wasn’t the one who had to drive up that hill and manoeuvre her way past enormous tractors on a road that wasn’t wide enough for one car, let alone a monster truck the size of three SUVs. 

“I think I’m going back to the city,” Magnus said, sighing. “Maybe I didn’t know what I had until it was gone.”

“No,” Clary said firmly. “We’ve rented this place for six months, and I’m damn well not going to survive here on my own. I can’t drive, for one, and apparently buses don’t exist here. Or trains. Or taxis.”

“Maybe you should learn how to drive,” Magnus teased, nudging her lightly in the ribs. “Then you won’t have to have me ferry you around everywhere.”

“Maybe I will. Maybe that will be my thing. Maybe I’ll impress all our friends back home with my driving prowess.”

Magnus snorted. “Everyone back home would think you’ve had a stroke. You hate cars.”

“Because they’re bad for the environment! But–” she shrugged diplomatically “–after half an hour here, I can see why people don’t have much choice.”

“Find some pretty countryside girl to teach you,” Magnus said, grinning. “I refuse.”

Clary sniffed in mock offence. “Rude.”

They made a half-hearted attempt at unpacking some of their kitchen things, but rapidly abandoned it in favour of discussing what food they wanted to buy. 

“I’m just going to call Ragnor,” Magnus said over his shoulder, making his way into the living room. “Then we can go.”

Magnus scrolled down to his best friend’s name in his contacts list, mentally cursing the man out. This had all been Ragnor’s idea, after Magnus’ life in the city had fallen apart and he’d been at a loss as to what he could do to start putting it back together. Already, Magnus could tell that he was going to hate every second of staying in Stickwick, even if, for some bizarre, unfathomable reason, Ragnor thought it was the perfect countryside break.

Magnus was a city boy, and he liked the luxuries of the city. He liked the rapid pace and public transport and everything being within walking distance. He didn’t like farms and cattle and small towns with their small town minds and small town gossip and—

And their small town _no fucking phone signal_.

Sighing, Magnus slid his phone back into the pocket of his jeans. There really was no silver lining. Countryside retreats were way, way overrated. He was never going to let Ragnor hear the end of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I set this fic in the UK. As I said: self-indulgent. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it! You can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/notcrypticlu?lang=en) (where you can use #ncbcfic) and on [Tumblr](%E2%80%9C) (where I am currently going absolutely out of my mind over Killing Eve).
> 
> Much love,  
> Lu <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Magnus meets Raphael and Simon, gets a fear assuaged, and Clary tries to remain positive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: coffee shop

On his first morning in Stickwick, Magnus eventually hauled his arse out of bed at nine-thirty, thanking every deity he didn’t believe in that he’d remembered to bring an eye mask. The blinds in his bedroom wouldn’t have blocked out moonlight. 

He traipsed downstairs to find Clary sitting cross-legged at the kitchen table, sketching the dreary view out of the window. A cafetière of coffee sat in the middle of the table, its smell an irresistible lure.

“Morning,” Clary said, tucking a lock of hair that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear. “I see somebody slept well.”

“I think that might be the latest I’ve slept on a weekday since I was bunking 9ams at university,” Magnus said, plucking a mug from the cupboard and moving to join Clary at the table. He stirred milk into his coffee and took a sip, humming. “Good coffee.”

“Right?” Clary set her pencil down. “Any idea what you’re doing today?”

“I’m here to write, so I might as well get started,” Magnus said. “And I think I’ll walk into the village later and see what’s going on. Maybe even meet another human being.”

Clary snickered at that. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

***

Contrary to Clary’s pessimistic predictions, the centre of the village was bustling with people when Magnus headed down there at lunchtime. He shed his jacket and pushed up the sleeves of his Henley, enjoying the autumnal warmth that wasn’t ruined by the thick pollution of the city that always made hot days so humid. 

A long queue outside the news agent made Magnus wince, but the residents standing there chatting to each other didn’t seem to mind the wait. His mind flitted back to people huffing and tutting and staring down at their phone screens with impatience in the Starbucks queues back home, and he wondered at how human beings could be so very different. 

Bypassing the news agent, he carried on down the street. The village church loomed overhead, flowers in the garden having begun to crinkle and wither at the approach of winter. A cheerful sign outside informed Magnus of the church’s goings on and service times, but he didn’t linger to pay them much mind. He highly doubted that he’d be spending much time in the church, as pretty as it was. 

He was pleased to find a grocery store, butcher’s and baker’s at the end of the main street; he took out his phone and was as far as typing out a text to Clary to let her know that they didn’t have to drive all the way into town for milk before remembering that there was apparently no signal anywhere in Stickwick. Scowling, he stowed his phone away and veered left into the café that ended the row of shops.

“Hi there!” a cheery voice called from behind the counter as the bell hanging over the door dinged to announce Magnus’ arrival.

“Hi,” Magnus echoed, a little taken aback by the brightness. A young man with wavy brown hair and a smile so wide Magnus wondered how his cheeks didn’t hurt stood beside the till, clearly halfway through the process of stacking pastries in the display cabinet. 

“What can I get you?” the man asked, dusting off his hands. “Coffee? Tea?”

“A cappuccino would be lovely, thanks,” Magnus said on autopilot, trying not to eye up the baked goods calling to him. He’d come to the countryside to get healthier, not to get heart disease. There was no gym nearby for him to burn off the excess calories. 

Maybe he’d take up running. Running in the countryside was probably far less objectionable than running in the city. 

“Coming right up,” the man said, picking up a mug and turning to the coffee machine. “So What brings you to Stickwick? Family holiday?”

“Oh.” Magnus chuckled. “No. I’m here with a friend. We’re staying for a few months. Escaping the city life.”

“Oh! You must be staying down at Rose Cottage!”

“That’s right.”

“Well.” The man turned around to place Magnus’ coffee on a tray, and smiled at him. “Welcome to Stickwick. I’m Simon, by the way. The village is so small that everyone knows everyone.” 

“Magnus,” Magnus said, accepting Simon’s handshake. “And, uh, could I get a slice of banana bread?”

“Of course,” Simon said. “On the house. As a welcome present.”

As Magnus was the only person in the café, he sat down at a nearby table and let Simon chatter to him while he wiped down the counters and rearranged the cakes and cleaned off the coffee machine. He was a nice guy, Magnus thought, if a little nerdy, judging by the Stars Wars logo on the front of the t-shirt he was wearing beneath his apron. 

“I don’t suppose you’ve met Alec yet?” Simon asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Who?”

“Your neighbour.”

“Oh, no. We haven’t. Does he own the sheep?”

Simon snorted as though that was the most ridiculous suggestion he’d ever heard. Magnus felt like he was missing something. 

“No, he definitely doesn’t own the sheep. The Branwells own most of the farm animals, actually. They own most of the land here. Comes up as a bone of contention at every single village meeting, I can tell you.”

Magnus stayed talking to Simon after he’d finished his coffee and banana bread, finding that, when he had nothing to rush off to, talking to near-strangers without an ulterior motive was actually rather invigorating. He almost felt like he’d used to at university, when meeting new people on a night out or at a social event was one of the biggest perks of student life.

The bell chimed, announcing the arrival of another customer. Simon and Magnus both glanced up, and Simon’s face broke into a grin at the sight of a serious-looking man dressed in a suit jacket and straight-leg trousers. He looked more like the city businessmen Magnus was used to dealing with than a countryside dweller. 

“Raph!” Simon said, walking over to press a kiss to the man’s cheek. “I didn't expect you. Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“I took the afternoon off,” the man said, patting Simon’s elbow affectionately and then stepping back. “I got roped into helping Meliorn with the party setup.”

“Isn’t that next weekend?”

“I know.” He grimaced. “You know how they are.”

“I do. Oh! Magnus, this is Raphael. Raph, this is Magnus. He’s living here for a few months. He’s staying at Rose Cottage.”

“You get used to the place quickly, however horrifying it seems now,” Raphael said. “When I first moved here, I wanted to leave on an hourly basis.”

Magnus laughed, and, throwing Simon an apologetic smile, he said, “I know what you mean.”

“You’ll come to love it, just like Raphael did,” Simon said firmly.

“Hmm.” Raphael’s lips turned up at the corners. “But was it really Stickwick that I came to love?”

Pretending to look shocked, Simon placed a hand over his heart. “Raphael Santiago, is there something you’d like to tell me?”

Raphael rolled his eyes. “We’re married, Simon.”

Simon gasped. “Really?”

“Mm. It was a grave mistake that I live to regret.”

As though that was the highest compliment Raphael could have paid him, Simon beamed. Magnus couldn’t help but be a little fascinated by their dynamic. And, in truth, he felt relieved. His biggest reservation about moving to somewhere like Stickwick had been the fear that he would have to retreat into the closet to get along with some of the more old-fashioned locals. Apparently, though, that wasn’t going to be an issue, if Simon and Raphael were anything to go by. Surely they wouldn’t be so openly discussing their relationship if it was at all likely that a customer would walk in and object?

“I should be heading off now,” Magnus said, beginning to rise from his chair. “It was nice meeting you both.”

“And you,” Raphael said, while Simon nodded enthusiastically.

“See you around, Magnus!” 

And, although in Magnus’ world it was just a turn of phrase, out here, it was probably literal. It would be impossible to avoid anybody in a village the size of Stickwick.

***

Once upon a time, Clary had adored the countryside.

She remembered coming to Stickwick as a child with her mother and her boyfriend, and spending hours playing in streams and stomping through forests and clambering over rocks and fallen trees with a fearlessness that only children can possess.

Adult Clary had clearly become far too dependent on city luxuries, she realised now, as she cringed at the mud on her boots when she came in from a walk and thought first of a shower to get rid of that farm smell she was sure lingered on her skin. 

Magnus was right. The lack of phone signal was infuriating. She’d managed to send a text to her mum, but all she really wanted to do was call her and lament her frustrations and her fears that this was a terrible error in judgement. 

Jocelyn would tell her that even if it was, it couldn’t hurt to go out of her comfort zone. That she was only renting for a few months, and then she could come home. That she hadn’t done anything drastic like Magnus, that she would still have a job and a life to return to. She’d just pressed pause.

But, god, Clary wanted her mum to say that to her. She didn’t want to have to tell herself. It sounded far more convincing coming from Jocelyn. 

When Magnus came back from his venture out into the main village, he looked surprisingly cheerful. 

“How was it?” she asked, biting into a snack bar. “Anybody under the age of fifty-five?”

“Your mother would find that comment exceedingly rude,” Magnus pointed out, to which Clary laughed, because it was undeniably true. “And yes, as a matter of fact. I was talking to the guy who works in the café, who looked about your age, and his husband.”

Clary’s heart thudded. She could feel the way Magnus watched her carefully for her reaction; she forced her expression into neutrality. She didn’t want to talk about it. Not now. Not when she’d come out to the middle of nowhere to forget about all of those complexities. 

“Well.” Clary chewed and swallowed the last bite of her bar too quickly, causing it to scratch painfully down her throat. “That’s nice.”

“Mm,” Magnus agreed. 

He tilted his head to one side. It was an offering. An opening. A chance for her to speak if she wanted to. But she didn’t. No matter how well-meaning Magnus was, and no matter how much better she’d probably feel if she said something, she just couldn’t. She wanted to pretend none of that existed. 

It was so bloody difficult. Nobody ever said that coming out was only the first of many seemingly-impossible hurdles to jump over. Nobody had told her that the hurdles were high, and infinite, and that leaping over them all was exhausting. 

“I was thinking salmon for tea,” Magnus said, when the silence stretched out for a minute or two. He walked over to the fridge, peered inside, and quirked an eyebrow at Clary. 

“Sounds good to me,” she agreed. “Healthy.”

“Well.” Magnus smiled wryly. “I think we could both do with paying a bit more attention to our health.”

“We have no alcohol, but I’ll drink to that.”

Magnus’ fingers fluttered restlessly over the contents of the fridge door, before he plucked out a glass bottle of something pale pink and translucent. He held it up for her inspection as though it were an expensive wine. 

“Raspberry and elderflower cordial to celebrate, ma’am?”

Clary giggled. “Get lost, you idiot.”

Magnus’ lips curled up into a crooked grin, and Clary thought that, perhaps, Stickwick wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Even if there was no phone signal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In tomorrow’s chapter: we meet someone exciting! ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Magnus encounters a storm, a hot neighbour witnesses his loss of dignity, and Clary receives a muddy box of tampons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic wasn’t initially intended to be this stupid. What can I say.
> 
> Prompt: storm

It started raining on Magnus’ walk back from the village. 

He’d barely stepped outside the pharmacy, a box of tampons for Clary and forms for them both to register with the local GP clutched in one hand, when he felt the first splatters of water hit him. At least he’d had the foresight to wear boots, he thought, grimacing at the thought of walking across the field between the main village and Rose Cottage’s front door in the wet. 

Glaring up at the sky, he slipped the forms inside his jacket, thanked the universe that tampons came in plastic wrappers, and began the trudge back home. 

Of course, the rain refused to relent. Instead, it got steadily harder, thick splatters smacking against the ground. Magnus was drenched through before he’d even left the high street. The dark black clouds overhead suggested that he’d probably drown before he made it home. 

A clap of thunder overhead made him jump. It sounded louder, somehow, than it ever did in the city. Lightning flashed across the trees in the distance, in the direction Magnus was walking, followed by another roar of thunder that made him wince.

Storms in the city were so much more civilised. Mostly, because he could just call an Uber. Or walk five minutes to a Tube stop. No such thing existed in Stickwick, because it was the middle of fucking nowhere.

Magnus scowled at the mere thought. Stupid place. Stupid countryside living. Stupid cheery small town people with their unbothered, happy-go-lucky attitudes. And especially stupid Ragnor, for suggesting such a stupid—

A undignified yelp came from Magnus’ lips as his boot skidded in the mud, and he found himself on his arse in the middle of a grassy field. Groaning, he put his hands down on either side of him to push himself up, and immediately cringed at the feeling of wet, gooey mud. The ground was absolutely saturated. He didn’t even want to imagine what his clothes were going to look like.

Lightning flashed again, the thunder rumbling in response more quickly this time. Magnus sat on the ground and glared. He was not cut out for this shit.

It wasn’t long past five o’clock, but the light was falling rapidly, not helped by the storm clouds. Rather than risk a more serious incident on the rest of his walk home, Magnus groped around in his pocket for his phone to use as a torch.

“Fuck my life,” Magnus said, loudly, when he turned his screen on to see that the battery was at three percent. Best to save that in case he stepped in a rabbit hole and broke his ankle. 

The countryside was dangerous, Magnus decided. If he were incapacitated out here, nobody would find him until morning. Maybe not even then. Someone could probably die of a sprained ankle out here, with the lack of useable phone signal and the fact that there were no fucking people around.

Although, in a way, perhaps that was a blessing. After all, suave, sophisticated Magnus Bane could not be seen on his butt in a field, practically swimming in mud. 

Through his peripheries, he saw a light blink on and off, and then on again. He turned in its direction, wondering whether perhaps death by lightning was going to be the icing on the cake of his countryside experiences. 

He squinted. It was an artificial light. Was that a person? It looked like the silhouette of a person. Had Clary come out looking for him? Had he been wallowing in self-pity like a poorly adapted hippo for that long?

No, that figure was too tall to be Clary. And it was the wrong direction. She’d be coming from down the hill, but this person was coming from across.

Was this their distant neighbour, in the pretty house on the hill? Neither he nor Clary had seen him in the week they’d been in Stickwick. He seemed to leave home before either of them rose, and he slipped back in without either of them noticing. 

God, he was becoming a middle-class suburban housewife, spying on his neighbours.

“Hey!” a voice shouted from behind the torch. “Hey! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Magnus called back. So much for Stickwick being deserted and nobody being around to witness his humiliation. What a first impression to give his new neighbour.

The figure approached rapidly, feet deft on the field, and stopped beside Magnus. Magnus couldn’t make out any features clearly in the darkness, but it was definitely a man, and he was very, very tall. Magnus appreciated tall men, perhaps because it was something of a novelty to find one someone than him. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” the man asked, peering down at Magnus and pointing the torch below eye level. “I saw you from my window. You weren’t moving.”

“That’s despair, not injury,” Magnus assured him. “I’m fine.”

“Here.” A hand extended itself towards Magnus in offering.

“Oh. I’m covered in mud, I don’t—”

“It’s fine.”

Cringing, Magnus wiped his hand on his jeans and then grasped the outstretched hand to haul himself up. His would-be rescuer didn’t seem to care about Magnus’ decided lack of cleanliness.

“I’m assuming you’ve just moved into Rose Cottage?” the man asked, shifting the torch so they could better see each other, and—

Oh, but he was _pretty_. He would have been even prettier if his hair wasn’t slicked to his scalp by the rain. Fuck the world, why did Magnus have to make a fool out of himself in front of his hot new neighbour? The world was deeply unfair.

“I have,” Magnus confirmed. “I’m Magnus.”

“Alec,” Tall Dark and Handsome said, smiling. “I live just up there.”

“Well, Alec–” _for god’s sake, Magnus, stop flirting_ “–thank you for the dashing rescue.”

Alec laughed, and, fuck, even his laugh was hot. “Not a countryside person at heart?”

“No,” Magnus agreed.

Hazel eyes sparkled with amusement, and Magnus noted that he was well and truly fucked. 

“If you ever need anything, you know where to find me. I’m well versed in the terrors of the small town life. Storms. Concealed rabbit holes. Spiders three times the size of any you’ll see in the city. Mosquitos, ticks, terrifying mutated insects—”

“Alright, alright!” Magnus rolled his eyes; Alec grinned unrepentantly. “I don’t think you’re meant to take the piss out of the new guy.”

“On the contrary,” Alec said, but the rest of his sentence was drowned out by a long, rolling growl of thunder. Alec squinted up at the sky, raindrops trickling down his cheeks. “That’s definitely getting closer. I’ll walk you home.”

“Oh, no,” Magnus protested, embarrassed at how incapable he must have seemed for Alec to offer to escort him home. “Really, it’s fine. I just skidded in the mud, but—”

“Have you got a torch?” Alec interrupted him, calmly.

“Unfortunately not. My phone is almost dead.”

“Then I’ll walk you home. It’s practically dark. This hill is deadly. As I’m sure you’ve noticed in the daylight.”

“Is this the part where you tell me the gruesome story of how the last owner died falling down this hill in the dark and nobody found his body for days, by which time it had been mangled by wild creatures and the flies were feasting?”

Alec raised his eyebrows. “Horror film fan?”

“Perhaps.”

“Mm. And no, nobody’s died here, but when tourists rent out that cottage for a week, they do quite often sprain and break things. So.” Alec gestured down the hill with the torch, and, sighing, Magnus relented.

They made it down the hill without further incident, and Alec insisted on walking along the path to Magnus’ front door. The man was incredibly stubborn.

“There,” Magnus said, taking out his front door key and turning around to face Alec. “You’ve delivered me safely home. Now who’s going to walk you back?”

“I’ve got the torch,” Alec said, unimpressed. “Goodnight, Magnus.”

“Goodnight,” Magnus said, and then: “Thank you. I maintain that it was entirely unnecessary, but thank you. It was very kind of you.”

Alec smiled, then, and Magnus huffed internally. _So fucking unfair._ Dashing heroes with brilliant smiles were not on Magnus’ list of things he wanted to get out of his escape to the country.

“You’re welcome,” Alec told him. He held Magnus’ gaze for a moment longer, expression inscrutable, and turned on his heel to begin the trek back up to his own home. 

***

A soggy box of tampons landed on the sofa beside Clary. She frowned down at it, pausing in her drafting of a WhatsApp message to her mum. They’d spent the afternoon testing Rose Cottage’s Wi-Fi capabilities, but had barely got as far as “hello” when the video froze up.

“Thanks?” Clary said, picking up the box gingerly. “Ew. What is that? Is that mud? Why is there mud on my tampons? Those go in my vagina.”

Magnus rolled his eyes. “Darling, I am intimately acquainted with how a tampon works, as you well know.”

“Then you should understand my concern!”

She turned to look over the back of the sofa, and gasped when she saw the state of Magnus. His jeans were more brown than the charcoal grey they had been that morning, and he looked like he’d swam back from the village. 

“What happened to you?” she demanded. “Did a local shove you in a ravine?”

“There’s a storm?” Magnus pointed to the window. “Perhaps you didn’t quite hear it? Our house has effectively become a boat with the amount of rain collecting outside.”

“No need for sarcasm. But I’m fairly sure it doesn’t rain mud in the countryside. I think nature still works the same way out here.”

“I fell,” Magnus said simply. “I’m going to have a long, hot shower now. Oh, and I met our neighbour. Alec. He’s very nice.”

Clary’s eyebrows shot up at that. “Oh?”

“I’ll tell you all about my humiliation once I can feel my extremities,” Magnus assured her. “In the mean time, feel free to daydream about me lying in ravines and being rescued by dashing countryside men.”

“Dashing?” Clary’s lips quirked at the corners. “Alec the neighbour is dashing, is he?”

“Oh yes,” Magnus said mournfully. “I’m afraid he’s very dashing.”

Clary snorted. Magnus shot her an overly sweet smile before turning around and taking the stairs two at a time. 

Ugh. If she found mud anywhere in the bathroom, she refused to be held accountable for her actions. Hot neighbour or no hot neighbour. 

She let her phone drop onto the sofa cushions and sighed. She really needed to find a job. A student-type job. Something nice and lowkey that would help her unwind, and still leave her time to work on her portfolio. 

Because, god, she refused to go crawling back to the city with nothing to show for her six month retreat into the country. Her so-called friends would never let her hear the end of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, city dwellers encountering Nature™. We love to see it. 
> 
> (I am a city dweller. I was a Nature™ dweller. Although perhaps not quite this level of Nature™!)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Clary wants to find a job, it’s two-nil to the hill, and a discovery is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: discovery

“Hi.”

Simon glanced up in amusement from where he was sitting behind the coffee shop counter, filling in a crossword in the village’s newspaper. (And, really, who did crosswords in newspapers anymore? Hadn’t everybody stopped doing that once Candy Crush and Flappy Bird were invented?) 

“Hi, Fray,” Simon said, the corners of his lips turned up. “Would you like a coffee?”

Clary twisted her hands together. “Um, no.”

“Okay. Cake? A sandwich?”

“No. I was– Look, I really need a job.”

“Ah.” Simon set his pen down. “For the money or for your sanity?”

Clary laughed a little. “Mostly the latter. I mean, I can’t afford to have six months with no income at all, but living here is pretty cheap compared to London, and I’m subletting my apartment in the city. But I came here to refocus on what’s actually important to me, not turn into a crazy lady who never leaves her house and is only friends with her cats.”

“Fair enough,” Simon said. “But, as you can see, we don’t have many customers here. It would be really bad business to hire unnecessary employees. I’m sorry.”

“Wait, do you own this café?”

“Oh yeah.” Simon grinned broadly. “Used to belong to a Branwell, but it was going bust, so they sold it to me cheap and I’ve turned it around. Mostly just because people like me. Amazing what a bit of good will can do.”

That almost made Clary snort. There it was again, that small town attitude. Clary didn’t really care whether her Starbucks baristas were polite or not - she only cared that she could get her early morning caffeine fix without having to get up more than five minutes earlier than she would otherwise.

“Look, Simon.” She fixed him with desperate, pleading eyes. “You are the only person I have met in this village. I have done so much art I’m sick of it already, and it’s only been a couple of weeks. I have no inspiration. I need to do something. I need to have a goal. One that’s not abstract and hippie.”

“Abstract and hippie?” Simon repeated, sounding bemused.

“Yes! All this! Come out to the countryside for your mental healing journey. Escape the chains of city life. All that crap.”

“Oh, I see.” His eyes sparkled with mischief. “You’ve got withdrawal.”

She blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“You’ve got withdrawal,” he repeated, grinning now. “City withdrawal. Raphael had it too, when he moved here. You lot get so used to your insane lifestyle, and then you come out here and you love it for a week, and then you can’t cope anymore. You miss the pace of the city because it’s all you know. You don’t know how to slow down and just exist without endless stimulation.”

Well. Fuck.

Clary gaped at him, staggered that someone she’d had less than five conversations with could know her so well. Better than she knew herself, apparently, because god, it made so much sense. But she’d never have thought of it like that.

“You’re right,” she breathed. “You’re so right. But how do I fix it?”

“Hm.” Simon tapped his fingers against the counter, studying Clary curiously. “How do you feel about kids?”

“I like them.”

“Help out at the school.”

“The school?” Her brow furrowed. “I’m not a teacher.”

“No, but they’re only young, and someone who likes paint and drawing and having fun will be wildly popular. Also–” he leant towards her over the counter, lowering his voice “–lovely as they are, the teachers there are all old. The kids could do with some young blood.”

“You really think they’d take me?” Clary asked, feeling somewhat doubtful that they’d want to employ someone with no child-related qualifications. Unless they counted her stint volunteering at a netball club in sixth form, when she’d spent three hours every week mediating disagreements about who got to play goal attack. 

“Yeah, I do. I’ll even put in a good word for you, if you like.”

“Oh my god.” She smiled, bit her lip, and lunged across the counter to grip Simon in a tight hug. “Thank you so much!”

Laughing, Simon patted her on the back. “You’re welcome.”

“You’re the best.”

“I feel the need to point out that I am married, Fray.”

“Oh my god.” Clary pulled back and rolled her eyes, and, just like that, the jubilant mood broke. “I really had no idea. It’s not like you’ve mentioned it every time I’ve spoken to you.” She shook her head. “You in-love people. _Sickening.”_

“Naw, you’re just jealous, Fray.”

“Sickening!” she repeated, heading for the door.

“You’re welcome!”

***

When Magnus had been lying on a muddy hill, musing about how easy it would be to die on it without anybody knowing, he hadn’t realised that he was having what practically amounted to a prophetic vision.

And yet, as he stood by the kitchen window rinsing out his coffee mug and stretching out his back muscles, he went from waving at Clary as she skipped home, to gaping as she stumbled on something and went rolling down the hill.

Swearing, Magnus dropped his mug on the side counter and rushed to the door. He paused for just long enough to do up the laces on his boots and pick up a key, before he was running outside and sprinting up the hill.

All of those mad dashes up the escalators on the Tube were worth it, he thought. Running up a sharp incline was no problem. 

“Are you alright?” Magnus asked, carefully avoiding a half-concealed rabbit hole as he approached her. 

“Ankle,” she said through gritted teeth. “ _Ow_.”

Magnus dropped to the ground beside her, for once uncaring of the mud and the grass stains that were sure to be left on his jeans, and reached out to inspect the ankle Clary was currently clutching.

“Ow!” she repeated, glaring at him. “That hurts!”

“I’m sorry,” Magnus said, patting her knee. “Can you stand, if I help?”

She nodded, so Magnus grasped her waist and her hand and hauled her upright, supporting most of her weight. She winced when she tried to put her injured foot down; Magnus frowned in displeasure. 

“To the doctor for you, I think,” he said, taking a slow step down the hill. 

“I cannot walk down this hill,” Clary said, turning frightened eyes on him. “Magnus, really, I can’t. It hurts too much.”

“Alright, it’s okay,” Magnus assured her. “This is undignified and you will hate me for it, but nobody will witness it but us.”

Clary frowned at him, but he didn’t give her time to argue. Steadying himself, he lifted Clary up and over his shoulder, thankful that she didn’t weigh much. 

She yelped. “A little warning next time!”

“How else did you want to get down? A glorified bum-shuffle?” Magnus asked mildly, making his way down slowly. He didn’t want to break both their necks. His was probably expendable, but Jocelyn and Luke would never forgive him if he managed to get their daughter killed when they were supposed to be healing in the countryside.

Or whatever. He was deeply unconvinced. So far, all he had for his efforts was a stiff neck from bending over a laptop all day and thirty thousand words of absolute crap. 

***

The GP surgery was, to Magnus’ surprise, not empty. Everything else in the village was empty most of the time, from what he’d seen, except perhaps the newsagent. And sometimes the bakery. Here, two older women sat together in one corner, and a young woman with long, dark hair was reading a magazine, one leg tossed over the other. Magnus’ eyes lingered on her: she was very beautiful, but it was her style that caught his attention. She was very well-dressed, in a pair of wine red pants, a well-worn black leather jacket and a pair of suede ankle boots.

“Same,” Clary mumbled to him, and Magnus snorted, shooting her a chastising look.

“You don’t have the excuse of being high on pain meds yet,” he whispered, and Clary giggled as he helped her over to a chair, before giving her name to the receptionist.

The woman with the long dark hair didn’t seem to have heard their muffled conversation - or she didn’t realise they were talking about her. She turned the page of her magazine idly, tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, and recrossed her legs. 

“Clary Fray?” a familiar voice called out, and–

Oh. Well, Alec the Hot Neighbour in a dark turtleneck and slim-fitting slacks had not been what Magnus was expecting from a trip to the doctor, but he wasn’t going to complain.

Clary looked at him knowingly, one eyebrow arched. 

“Shut up,” he hissed, helping her up. 

Alec‘s brow creased in clinical concern as he watched Clary hobble towards him.

“My office is just here,” he said, holding the door open for them both. “Take a seat.”

Once Clary was settled, Alec introduced himself as Doctor Lightwood, and Magnus had to force himself to focus on Clary and not repeat the words over and over in his head. Because, fuck, that was hot. Competence was hot. 

“You’re at Rose Cottage, right?” Alec asked, while he inspected Clary’s ankle, carefully twisting and poking and prodding, watching Clary’s face carefully as he did so. “Tell me if anything hurts.”

“It all hurts,” Clary grumbled. “And yes, I am.”

“I met Magnus the other night,” Alec said, shooting Magnus an amused look. “Clearly, that hill has been kind to neither of you.”

“I have a new hatred for rabbits,” Clary said. “Those rabbit holes are impossible to see even in daylight.”

“Noticing them is a skill,” Alec agreed, before sitting back and snapping off his gloves. “The good news is, I think this is a sprain, not a break.”

He was saying other things, telling Clary what to do and digging something out of a cupboard, but Magnus wasn’t really paying attention to the words coming out of his mouth. The cupboard was overhead, and Alec had to reach up to get whatever he needed, and his jumper was riding up to expose a sliver of his back, and why oh why was that so fucking tantalising? 

Even once that strip of skin was gone, Magnus couldn’t get himself to concentrate. It was ridiculous. He was an adult. A capable, semi-functioning adult who did not become incapacitated because someone attractive was in the room.

Except now, apparently, he did. 

“...and here’s your prescription,” Alec said, handing Clary a folded piece of paper. “Would you like a hand getting to your car?”

“That would be great,” Clary said. “Thank you.”

Alec turned his back for a moment, and Clary flashed Magnus a smirk. Fuck. She knew exactly what he’d been thinking about during the consultation. 

Magnus trailed behind them as Alec helped Clary out to the car. Her ankle was bandaged up, now, and she seemed to be finding it easier to put weight on it. As long as Magnus focused on that and not the fact that he was in the perfect position to sneak a glance at Alec’s arse, everything would be fine. 

“If you need anything, you know where to find me,” Alec said, sending Clary a professional smile. He looked up at Magnus. “And I’m sure I’ll see you both around. It’s impossible not to out here.”

“I can imagine,” Magnus found himself saying, the words coming out sounding almost like he was in control of all his faculties, and not having a meltdown over a pretty country doctor. 

Fucking hell, he was becoming such a cliché. 

“Safe drive home.”

With that, Alec nodded at them both and turned to go back inside. 

Exhaling, Magnus rounded the bonnet and slid into the driver’s seat, attempting to banish the imagine of Alec Lightwood - Doctor Alec Lightwood - from his mind. 

“Ooh, look. His name’s _Alexander_ ,” Clary said, shoving her prescription under Magnus’ nose. “The sexy hot neighbour is a sexy hot doctor with a sexy hot name.”

“I’m quite sure it’s illegal to date patients, Clarissa,” Magnus replied, pretending to be unfazed.

“Oh, so you do think he’s sexy?”

“Shut up,” Magnus told her, in what he thought was a very firm tone of voice that booked no room for arguments. 

The echo of Clary’s laughter rang in his ears all the way home. He was never going to live this one down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The alternative summary to this fic: will Magnus and Clary ever manage to function in a land where there are more than three trees?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Clary is rendered useless by a pretty woman, Magnus is rendered useless by a pretty man, and Meliorn invites them to a party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: art

When Clary had told Simon that she liked kids, she’d been telling the truth. She did. They were hilarious, and outrageous, and their minds worked in incredible ways. 

But after her first afternoon helping out at the primary school, after an interview with the headmistress that had taken no more than fifteen minutes, she was exhausted. Possibly that was just because this was the first work she’d done in nearly three weeks.

She finished cleaning up the used paint palettes and the inevitable mess that had been left all over the tables, locked up the art room, and headed out front. Most of the kids had already left with their parents, but a few were still waiting patiently with their teachers, looking hopefully at the people passing on the pavement. 

“Oh my god, Izzy,” Max, the year one teacher who looked barely out of school himself but whom she’d spoken to during break, was saying. “Do not.”

Clary glanced over, wondering if she could help reign in whichever overenthusiastic child was making life difficult for the teacher, but there didn’t appear to be any children in his general vicinity. Frowning, she followed his gaze, to see—

Oh.

A woman was standing on the other side of the wooden fence, her hands braced against the top and a grin stretching across her face. It was the same woman from the GP surgery. Clary would recognise that hair anywhere. 

It was a shame that Clary would have absolutely no hope of making a good first impression. She still had her foot visibly bandaged up, much to the interest of the children and the amused despair of the teachers, when she’d told them the story. 

“Isabelle,” Max warned the beautiful woman. “They will see you and they will copy you.”

Isabelle shrugged. “We used to do it.”

And, ignoring Max’s protests, Isabelle vaulted gracefully over the three-foot-high fence, landing easily on the grass the other side despite the four inch heels on her boots. Clary gaped. So did several of the children. Smirking with self-satisfaction, Isabelle made her way over to Max and patted his cheek.

“Chill, little brother,” she said. “They’re not tall enough to do that.”

“I assure you, it won’t stop them trying,” Max muttered. “Why are you here?”

Looking hurt, Isabelle placed a hand over her heart and said, “Aren’t I allowed to come and see my brother, all grown up at work?”

“I’ve been working here for two months.”

Isabelle sniffed exaggeratedly. “I still remember when you were born.”

“Alright, alright.” Max looked embarrassed. “Shut up. What do you really want?”

“Well.” She smiled brightly, and Clary felt her heart stutter. Fuck, but the woman was stunning. “Jace and Meliorn are throwing a party, and I thought you should come.”

Max narrowed his eyes. “Are you trying to set me up?”

“No!”

“Because I told you—”

“Max, I’m not trying to set you up. Please just come. It’ll be fun.”

The pair stared at each other for a long, tense handful of seconds, before Max relented with a heavy sigh. “Fine. I’ll come. But it had better be a good party.”

“Of course it’ll be a good party. Meliorn’s in charge.” 

Isabelle glanced up, and her eyes met Clary’s. Something Clary couldn’t decipher flashed across her face, before she turned back to Max and said something in a low voice that Clary couldn’t make out.

Fuck. She was eavesdropping. Eavesdropping and staring. And she’d been caught, and, worse she hadn’t even realised she’d been doing it, too distracted as she was by how very pretty Max’s sister was. 

Bloody hell, Clary had not come to Stickwick to hook up with women. She needed to get a damn grip. Starting now. She was going to walk out of the gate and go home and she was not going to turn around and sneak a look at Isabelle. 

Okay. Maybe just one. But really, who could blame her?

***

In the city, Magnus rarely had to worry about embarrassing himself in front of strangers. Mostly because he was far too competent at work to do anything embarrassing, and far too suave in front of his friends, but also because anything else involved strangers, and, in the city, nobody ever ran into the same person twice.

The same could not be said for Stickwick. 

On a sunny but freezing Saturday morning, Magnus found himself in the middle of a conversation with Raphael while he stood in the queue for fresh bread at the bakery. He’d come to understand why the residents of Stickwick were so willing to queue for their baked goods. Meliorn, who ran the place and made everything by hand, was truly a master. Magnus had never tasted bread that good from a supermarket. 

“Morning, Lightwood,” Raphael said, when someone joined the queue behind them. Magnus glanced over his shoulder a split second before his brain realised whose surname that was.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Could Magnus not buy his bread in peace? Did this delectable, tempting man have to appear everywhere to remind Magnus of his humiliation? 

“Morning, Raphael,” Alec said. “Oh. Hi, Magnus.”

Raphael arched an eyebrow and looked between them. “You’ve met the doctor?”

Alec scoffed. “ _The doctor_.”

“Yes,” Magnus said, not entirely sure what Alec was getting at. “We’ve met.”

“We’re neighbours,” Alec told Raphael, in a tone that suggested that that should have been obvious.

Well. Everyone Magnus met seemed to know that he was the city bloke renting Rose Cottage, so perhaps it was common knowledge. 

“Mm. And when are you ever at home?”

“You sound like my mother, Raphael,” Alec said mildly, but he didn’t seem annoyed by the comment. “And I’ve got the whole weekend _and_ Monday off, thank you very much.”

“How did you manage to arrange that one?”

Alec shrugged. “Haven’t had a weekend in a while. Cat and Dot are on shift.” He turned his eyes on Magnus. “How’s Clary doing?”

“Much better,” Magnus told him. “Her ankle still looks black, though.”

Alec smiled wryly. “Unfortunate side effect, I’m afraid. I did mine playing football when I was about sixteen, and I’ve never seen my mother so horrified by something.” He chuckled. “My sister was really sympathetic. She laughed at me and took a photo.”

Magnus found himself smiling back on instinct, while his useless brain fixated on how stupidly cute Alec looked when he laughed. The corners of his eyes crinkled adorably, and his eyes brightened, and he was flashing a straight line of bright white teeth, and _oh, fucking hell_. 

They reached the front of the queue, and Meliorn bagged up Raphael’s things without Raphael having to ask for anything more than “Simon’s normal”. 

Magnus hated small towns. He hated people knowing things about him when he didn’t explicitly permit them to. Simon already knew his coffee order and which baked goods he liked and disliked. It was truly horrifying. 

“Are you coming next weekend?” Meliorn asked Alec, fiddling with his helix piercing.

“As though I’d turn down an opportunity to watch Jace attempt to charm guests,” Alec said, grinning. “I’ll be there.”

“You’re not working?”

“I might be a little bit late. But I’ll make sure to finish the day on time. Barring any emergencies, of course.”

“It’ll be nice to have you,” Meliorn told him, exchanging his bag of pastries for a ten pound note.

Their conversation halted as Raphael bid them goodbye and Meliorn turned to Magnus, asking him what he wanted. Magnus could feel Alec’s gaze boring into the side of his head, but he didn’t look over until Meliorn’s back was turned.

Alec didn’t look away when Magnus turned to catch him staring; he kept watching him, unflinching. Magnus raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Hey, Meliorn?” Alec said, still not looking away from Magnus.

“Yes?”

“Have you got room for one more at the weekend?”

“Of course.” Meliorn offered Magnus a smile along with his bread. “We’d love you to come. Maybe then you’ll feel a bit more like a part of the community.”

“Is it that obvious that I’m not entirely at home here?” Magnus asked dryly. 

“Maybe a little,” Alec said, smiling that torturous, lovely smile. Mischief flashed in his eyes. “I did rescue you off the side of a hill in the middle of a storm.”

“What?” Meliorn demanded, eyes going wide. “Oh my god, Magnus. Are you alright?”

Magnus groaned. “He’s making it sound much more dramatic than it was. I was fine, and I did not need rescuing.”

“It was just the despair, was it?” Alec asked, smirking now.

“Shut up,” Magnus told him, firmly.

“A party is clearly exactly what you need,” Meliorn said, interrupting their bickering before Alec could find any more rude and unnecessary comments to make. “You can get some tips from Raphael about how to acclimatise to country living. He had a hell of a time when he first moved here.”

“Oh, yeah.” Alec snickered. “I say this with love, but he was even worse than you are, Magnus.”

“Is that possible?” Magnus asked doubtfully. 

“You’d be surprised,” Meliorn told him. “Hey, bring your friend, too. The one you’re staying here with. I’m sorry, I don’t even know her name...?”

“Clary,” Magnus supplied. “She’s working over at the school in the afternoons.”

“Max was saying that the kids love her,” Alec said, leaning against the cake counter and slipping his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. He crossed his long, long legs at the ankle, looking the perfect picture of tempting nonchalance. 

Magnus despised him and his perfectness. Why did someone so attractive also have to be so nice and have such a wholesome job? Why couldn’t he have been an investment banker?

Maybe he voted Tory. That was probably going to be the catch.

But no—surely no self-respecting doctor voted Tory?

“Max?” Magnus asked, hauling himself into the present before he started leering at Alec like an absolute creep.

“Oh, my younger brother. He’s just qualified as a teacher, and he’s teaching year one. Apparently his class were thrilled by Clary’s art thing.”

“She’ll be pleased to hear that,” Magnus told him, honestly. “She’s enjoying it.”

“What about you? What is it that you do, in the big bad city?”

Magnus wondered, abruptly, how all these small town folks would cope in the city. Would they feel just as out of depth as Magnus did here? Perhaps more, even. At least the residents of Stickwick were, in Magnus’ limited experience, unfailing kind and friendly and cheerful, even if that grated on his nerves at times. Londoners were hardly the more generous bunch. They bonded over being silent on the Tube and scowling at tourists and making passive-aggressive remarks to anyone who delayed them.

“I am - I _was_ \- a solicitor,” Magnus told them.

That piqued Meliorn’s interest. He crossed his arms on the countertop and leant forwards. “You were? Did you do something terrible and get struck off?”

“No, I quit,” Magnus said. He shrugged. “It was complicated. But that’s how I ended up here, really.”

“That’s brave,” Alec said. Magnus laughed derisively, because _brave_ wasn’t exactly how he’d have described throwing away his entire career just because he couldn’t cut it anymore, but Alec wasn’t deterred. “No, really. You must have worked hard to get to where you were. Acknowledging that something isn’t working for you anymore is one thing, but being brave enough to change course—that’s brave.”

“Or stupid.”

“No.” Alec shook his head. “No, just brave. I’m sure you’ll work things out. How hard can it be once you’ve worked out how to survive here for six months?”

“That is true,” Magnus admitted. 

“You’ll come to love Stickwick,” Meliorn said, straightening up as another customer came through the door. He dropped Magnus a wink, smiling as though he knew something that Magnus didn’t. “You’ll see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your comments! I know I haven’t replied to them all yet, but I’ve loved reading them! <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they go to a party, Isabelle introduces herself, and Magnus meets Max.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: drinks

“Do you think this is too much?” 

Clary peered out of her bedroom door to look at Magnus standing on the landing, dressed up in dark black jeans, a top that shimmered just slightly when it caught the light, and a slim-fitting scarlet jacket shot with streaks of black thread. He’d done his make-up to match, and styled his hair up. 

“No?” Clary frowned at him. “You look great. Why would it be too much?”

“I’m not deliberately trying to antagonise the locals.”

“Magnus, what in—” Clary found herself waving her hands vaguely, words eluding her. “Since when have you ever cared about what other people think of you?”

He shrugged, reaching up to fiddle with the silver cuff on his ear. “I don’t. But fighting all the time is so tiring. I had to fight to dress the way I wanted to at work. I had to fight as a teenager to be myself. I don’t want to have to fight here, too. This is supposed to be all about...relaxing. Lowering my chances of a heart attack before the age of forty.” 

Clary felt her expression soften with sympathetic understanding. Magnus had fought tooth and claw to get to the top, to be successful without compromising the core of who he was, but he’d sacrificed all the things a person should never sacrifice. 

He looked better, Clary thought, since coming to Stickwick. The purple bags beneath his eyes that even the best concealers couldn’t quite cover had gone, and he held himself straighter, but something was still missing. The spark of life that had drawn people to him - Clary included - back in their university days was notably absent. 

“I say this as a compliment,” Clary said, “but you don’t exactly conform to stereotypical masculinity even when you’re dressed down. Nobody’s said anything to you since we’ve been here, have they?”

“No.” Magnus exhaled, and shot her a smile. “Thank you.”

“Always. Is my eyeliner even?”

Magnus stepped closer, tilted his head to one side, and huffed out a fond breath of a laugh. “No, darling.”

***

Meliorn’s house was situated between two large, towering oak trees, with irregular twisted knots and craggy gnarled bark. The last time Magnus had been possessed by the desire to climb a tree, he’d been about eight years old and had used catching his hair in a branch as an excuse to demand that his mother let him cut it all off. But those trees, with branches perfectly spaced until at least half way up, just begged to be climbed.

Clary knocked on the door. The sounds of a party in full swing drifted out into the front yard; the music sounded adequate, at least.

The door was hauled open, and they were greeted by Meliorn, dripping with jewellery and with intricate braids layered into his hair.

“Magnus,” Meliorn said, levelling them with a warm smile. “And you must be Clary. Meliorn.”

“Thank you for the invite,” Clary said, taking Meliorn’s proffered hand. “Your house is lovely.”

Meliorn hummed. “It was lovelier until I made the grievous mistake of inviting my boyfriend to live in it with me. The man would pair neon orange with bright pink and call it beautiful.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Here, come with me. I’ll get you both a drink and introduce you to the people I’m fool enough to call my friends.”

Once Clary was sipping a gin and tonic and Magnus a martini, Meliorn led them from the kitchen and back into the living room, where few more than a dozen people were gathered, chatting amicably. 

Small towns, Magnus thought, amused. House parties weren’t quite the same when the available social circle was so limited. 

“Hey,” an unfamiliar man said, breaking away from a group to walk over to Meliorn. “You must be Meliorn’s city recruits.”

“That’s us,” Clary agreed. “Clary. And this is Magnus.”

“Jace,” the man replied.

He was very _blonde_ , Magnus thought, with just a hint of disdain. He couldn’t help it. The man looked like a carbon copy of all the people at secondary school who’d played football and enjoyed taunting anyone who didn’t conform. 

Magnus was pretty sure that Jace was Meliorn’s boyfriend, though, so he couldn’t be like that. Meliorn was far too good.

“Is Alec here?” Meliorn asked, as Jace settled his arm casually around Meliorn’s shoulders, a half-empty pint glass held in his free hand. 

They looked like an odd couple, Magnus thought. Jace, so very straight-laced, and Meliorn so not. But they seemed at ease around each other, and comfortable in each other’s space in that way that only long-term partners and friends were. 

“No.” Jace rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “He texted me. Distressed patient came in as he was leaving, and Cat was busy.”

“Typical.” Meliorn waved at someone behind Magnus and Clary, and beckoned them over. “Have you two met Isabelle and Max?”

To Magnus’ fascination, a deep flush painted itself across Clary’s cheeks. His eyebrows shot up, wondering what had occurred that Clary had neglected to tell him about. 

“I don’t believe we’ve officially met,” said a rich, warm voice. “Max tells me you’ve been very popular with his pupils.”

It was the beautiful woman who’d been in the doctor’s waiting room, Magnus realised. Isabelle extended a hand, nails painted a glossy burgundy to match her top, and met Clary’s gaze. Clary stuttered out some approximation of her name in response. 

Isabelle looked charmed. 

“Fancy seeing you here.”

Magnus jumped at the sound of Alec’s voice right behind him, sloshing his drink precariously. For god’s sake, was the man trying to kill him?

Yes, he bloody well was, Magnus realised upon turning around. That was a mistake. A terrible, grievous mistake. Because he was forced to confront Alec Lightwood in a slim-fitted shirt that was having a distractingly attractive battle with his biceps. 

“Alec,” Magnus said. “Hi.”

Alec’s gaze drifted over Magnus’ shoulder and landed on where Clary and Isabelle had been making their awkward introduction a moment before. 

“I see my siblings have already arrived to cause trouble.”

Isabelle was Alec’s sister? Perhaps Magnus could see the resemblance. They both had the same wavy dark hair, and they were both unfairly good-looking. As for the brother - Magnus hadn’t even worked out who he was, too distracted by Isabelle rendering Clary tongue-tied. 

“Alec! You made it!” Jace appeared at Magnus’ side, beer glass now empty. “I hope that patient had something interesting.”

“I’m fairly sure that enjoying other people’s suffering makes you a bad person, Jace.”

“Come off it.” Jace wrinkled his nose, and nudged Magnus lightly with his elbow. “When this one was off at medical school, all we ever heard about were these disgusting cases he’d seen. He was obsessed. And don’t even get me started on the anatomy talk. At the dinner table.”

“It was interesting!” Alec protested, appearing genuinely put-out, before realising that what he’d just said proved Jace’s point. He scowled. “Fuck you.”

Jace smirked. Magnus smiled. 

“Would you like another drink?” Alec asked Magnus, pointedly ignoring Jace. “I’m just going to grab one for myself.”

“I’ll join you.”

“Don’t scare the newcomer off with horrifying stories,” Jace called after them, eyes twinkling. 

Magnus seriously doubted Alec would be the one scaring him off, but Jace wasn’t to know that. 

***

It was quieter in the kitchen. The music playing from Meliorn’s speakers in the living room was quieter, and the chatter of voices muffled, and the constant shuffle for attention absent. 

Once upon a time, Magnus would have thrived in that sort of environment, with so many new people for him to meet and enrapture with his conversational prowess. Now, he found it all a little exhausting. 

He found so many things exhausting. He found _life_ exhausting. 

Dating had always been exhausting, he thought wryly, as he leant against a counter and watched Alec break out a six-pack of London Pride. (And the irony of that drink choice wasn’t lost on him.) At least that would never change. 

“Another martini?” Alec offered. “Meliorn’s probably better at making them, but I’ll give it a go.”

“Thank you,” Magnus said, handing over his glass. “I have to say, Stickwick is surprising me.”

“Really?” Alec’s lips curled up at the corners. “In what way?”

“Everyone I’ve met seems to be very open-minded. I was expecting...”

“Racist, homophobic small town with archaic views?”

“Well.” He shot Alec a sheepish smile. “Yes, actually.”

Alec laughed. “Trip Advisor is entirely correct, in our case.”

Whatever that meant, Magnus had no idea. But he was distracted by Alec passing him his drink, their fingers brushing in a perfect cliche as Magnus took the glass. Their gazes locked. Fuck, Magnus wasn’t imagining that tension in the air, was he? That was definitely a flicker of desire in the hazel of Alec’s eyes, and in the slow bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallowed and drew back. 

Alec cleared his throat. “Let me know if it’s not to your liking.”

“I’m sure it will be.”

Magnus hadn’t intended the comment to be flirtatious, but if the dilation of Alec’s pupils was any indication, he took it as such. His eyes darted to the side before returning to Magnus.

“We should–” Alec cleared his throat when his voice came out sounding a little rough, and gestured to the doorway “–rejoin the party.”

“Of course,” Magnus agreed, pushing himself gracefully away from the counter. “You can introduce me to your brother.”

Alec chuckled. “I _can_ , but whether you really want me to is another question.”

Frankly, Magnus would have made up next to any excuse to keep talking to Alec. Even if Max Lightwood did turn out to be rather devilish.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: drinks
> 
> I’m sorry if this has any typos in it - I really want to post this before I go to bed! If there are and you spot any, please do let me know in the comments, and I’ll fix it in the morning.

“So.” With the effortless grace of a dancer, Isabelle Lightwood collapsed back onto one of Meliorn’s plush sofas, and arched an eyebrow at Clary, still standing. “What is it that you do, in the big bad city?”

Feeling a little nervous despite the alcohol flowing through her veins, Clary seated herself beside Isabelle on the sofa, deliberately leaving several inches of space between them. Isabelle was wearing crimson red lipstick with a heady, flirtatious smokey eye, and the combination ticked boxes Clary had no idea she had. As did the tight leather trousers and the dangerously high heels. One leg had been tossed over the other with apparent carelessness when she sat down, but Clary got the impression that everything Isabelle did was deliberate. 

“I’m a glorified paper pusher,” Clary said, frankly.

“Oh.” Isabelle surveyed her over the rim of her glass, and took a slow sip of her drink. Her expression remained inscrutable. “But you’re...an artist? At heart, I mean.”

“I am,” Clary agreed. “I work for a magazine, and I was hired into a creative role, but I’m not exactly using my skills.”

“So you came to Stickwick?”

“I did. I still have my job, I’m just on leave, but I wanted to come here and expand my portfolio. Have some time to work on things I’m genuinely passionate about. Not...” She let out a derisive laugh as she considered all the pointless, gossipy articles she’d illustrated cartoons for. “I wasn’t happy. I was doing a job that I despised and it was taking up all of my time.”

“Hm.” Isabelle shifted to prop her elbow up on the back of the sofa and leant her head on her hand. “And your friend?”

“Magnus’ story is a little different,” Clary admitted. “He needed this more than me.”

“And you and Magnus...?”

“We’re just friends,” Clary said quickly, and felt her cheeks turn pink at how eager she’d been to clarify that point. 

She was not in Stickwick to pick up women, damnit!

“Good,” Isabelle said, taking another sip of her drink.

Clary felt like she’d swallowed her tongue. Did Isabelle always look at people with that level of intensity? 

“I like your necklace.”

Passing her drink into the other hand, Isabelle leant forward and reached out to brush her fingertip against the pendant resting just below Clary’s clavicle. Goosebumps rose across Clary’s skin at the proximity of Isabelle’s skin to hers.

“Thank you.” She took a hasty swig of her drink, effectively forcing Isabelle to move back out of her personal space. “Magnus bought it for me, actually. For my twenty-first birthday.”

Isabelle’s eyebrows shot up. “I don’t think I could have afforded that at twenty-one.”

“No.” Clary laughed. “Magnus is a bit older than me. I met him my first year at university. He was in his fourth, doing his law conversion.”

“Oh, I see. Can I ask—how old are you?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“Oh, I’m a cradle-robber,” Isabelle said, laughing. 

“How old are you?” Clary asked, privately thinking that if Isabelle said she was more than thirty, she’d have to accuse her of lying. The woman didn’t have a line to be seen on her face, even though she was wearing make-up, and, at least in Clary’s experience, make-up had a habit of clinging to fine lines. 

“Twenty-eight.” Isabelle flashed Clary a grin. “Terrible, aren’t I?”

It wasn’t really that funny, but Clary found herself giggling - _giggling, for god’s sake_ \- at the teasing glint in Isabelle’s eyes. 

Isabelle studied Clary for a moment, and then said, “Wanna dance?”

Clary blinked at the abrupt change in conversation. She hadn’t danced with a hot woman since she’d last been to the lesbian bar in Soho. That had to have been a fair few years ago. She hadn’t done anything fun in forever. Not really. 

“Yeah.” Clary held Isabelle’s gaze, hoping that Isabelle understood the intent. “I’d love to.”

It wasn’t exactly like going to the clubs and bar she’d frequented at university. She could see Isabelle, for one, and she could hear her above the music without shouting right in her ear, and she could move without accidentally grinding against someone. 

But it was still fun. Just a different kind of fun. Isabelle moved like the music penetrated her very cells, and she kept reaching out to grab Clary’s hand to twirl them together. She laughed when Meliorn dragged Jace over to join them, much to Jace’s embarrassment, and Clary found herself laughing too. It was infectious. Isabelle was infectious. 

God, she hardly knew the woman, but she was enraptured. She could hardly look away. Not that it mattered: Isabelle was looking at her, too.

***

The Lightwoods were all a force to be reckoned with, Magnus decided, as he stood with Alec and Max, all of them watching from the sidelines as Isabelle and Clary began to dance, unprompted, in the middle of the living room. Meliorn and Jace joined in, as did Simon, on his own, dancing in front of Raphael, who was covering his face in apparent shame. His shoulders were shaking, though, and Magnus could make out the corner of a fond smile. 

It was nice, Magnus thought wistfully, that they had that sort of relationship. One where it was okay to have different likes and dislikes, and where those were respected. 

If only someone had told him, when he was their age, that those sorts of things were what differentiated a healthy from and unhealthy relationship. 

“They’re mortifying,” Max said, shaking his head in despair. “Look at them. At least Meliorn can dance, but the rest of them...”

Magnus’ lips quirked at that. Max had a point. Isabelle looked stunning, but for the way she kept trying to dance with Clary, who was either too drunk or too besotted to be putting on her best performance. 

“I’ve still got that video of your eighteenth birthday, Max,” Alec said mildly. 

Max turned to glare at his brother. “That was nearly four years ago!”

“And?” Alec smirked. “Don’t lie, Max. If Meliorn hadn’t seen that and taken pity on your appalling dance skills, you’d be just as bad. Worse.”

“Like you can talk,” Max muttered.

“Hey!” Alec held up his hands in the universal position of surrender. “I’ve never pretended to have rhythm. I accept that I have none.”

Magnus couldn’t help himself. “Oh, come on.”

Max and Alec both looked at him with identical expressions of confusion. It was a little disconcerting, to say the least, even if Max was a full head shorter than Alec. 

“Anyone can learn to dance,” Magnus said. “Anyone can learn to have rhythm. You just have to listen to the music and stop worrying about what you look like.”

“As you can see, we grew up in a very supportive atmosphere,” Max quipped. “We bonded over taking the piss out of each other. Alec was exceedingly good at it.”

Alec slung an arm around Max’s shoulders and reached up to ruffle his hair. Max yelped, swatting his hand away with a scowl, and Alec chuckled. 

“Only because you made it so easy.”

Oh, so Alec Lightwood loved his family, too? Magnus added that to the ever-growing list of things he was finding reluctantly attractive. Reluctant because he had no come to Stickwick to date. Not because anything about Alec turned him off. On the contrary. 

_Probably votes Tory_ , Magnus repeated to himself, because that was definitely a turn-off, and he needed to find some before he did something stupid. _And likes Brexit_. 

No, that didn’t sound even remotely likely, even to his own desperate mind. All the healthcare workers hated Brexit. 

“Fuck off, _Alexander_ ,” Max said, clearly goading his brother, and—

Jesus, did he even have to have an attractive name? Wasn’t everything else enough?

“Don’t call me that,” Alec complained, and shuddered. “Makes me feel like I’m ten years old and being told off by Mum.”

Max winced. “Sorry.”

Silence fell between them. Magnus tipped back the last of his drink, and watched Clary with Isabelle. At some point in the evening, Clary had unpinned her hair from the elaborate updo she’d created, and was now running a hand through it as she levelled Isabelle with what could only be described as bedroom eyes. 

At least someone might find something nice in Stickwick, Magnus thought.

“My sister seems to be hitting it off with your friend,” Alec observed, voice lower than it had been a moment ago. Had he got closer? It seemed like he was standing closer. Magnus was sure he hadn’t been able to feel Alec’s body heat through his thin shirt before.

“She does, yes,” Magnus agreed.

He felt Alec’s gaze on the side of his head. “She’s just your friend? Clary?”

Magnus couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. He and Clary, an item? Nothing could sound more ridiculous. The mere thought was frankly horrifying. 

“Oh, god, yes,” Magnus said. “We’re definitely just friends.”

He turned around so that he was facing Alec fully. At some point, Max had abandoned them to join Simon in his uninhibited dancing, much to Raphael’s exasperation. They were clearly dancing particularly enthusiastically just to wind him up.

Alec seemed very close, Magnus thought. Like this, he had to tilt his head up to look him in the eye. Alec was making no effort to move back, or to give Magnus space; instead, his eyes were flickering across Magnus’ face, as though attempting to read every thought running through his mind. 

“What about you?” Magnus found himself asking. “Are you...attached?”

“No.” A faint smile caught at Alec’s lips. “Dating in a small town isn’t easy. And I don’t exactly have time to go looking elsewhere.”

Of course. The moral, hard-working doctor who’d earned the unfailing respect of every resident of the village. Magnus knew that cliché. Although, some of the medical students he’d known at university certainly hadn’t been very moral. 

Alec was single. Magnus tried his best not to feel too pleased about that.

“I somehow doubt that you would find it too difficult to find someone who’s interested,” Magnus said.

Alec shrugged. “I could say the same to you.”

“Ha. You’d be surprised.”

“Maybe,” Alec said, voice soft. “Maybe not.”

For a handful of seconds, Magnus couldn’t look away from those unwavering hazel eyes. He wondered if Alec was going to say anything else, because, fuck, Magnus had no idea what that meant. But he didn’t.

Then Clary was calling Magnus’ name from across the room, beckoning him over. Magnus spared Alec one final glance, offered him a smile, and made his way over to where Clary stood arm in arm with Isabelle and Meliorn. 

When he turned to see if Alec was still watching him, he found the spot where he had been standing empty. A cursory survey of the room confirmed: Alec had gone. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Magnus visits the GP, there’s a surprise waiting at home, and someone gets asked on a date...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: first date

Since the age of fifteen, Magnus had seen so many doctors that he no longer got jitters sitting in the waiting room, knowing that he was about to be poked, prodded, pricked, and interrogated about all and any aspects of his health.

Back in London, after many horrible conversations with doctors who didn’t try to understand, doctors who tried but just didn’t have the experience or the resources to learn, and doctors who simply didn’t understand that Magnus didn’t fit their stereotypical expectations, he’d found a GP who fitted his needs.

He couldn’t help but wonder whether Stickwick was going to be a step back in time. Perhaps he was guilty of stereotyping the people who inhabited small towns, but he couldn’t imagine that a village in the middle of nowhere with a population of less than a thousand people had too much experience in transgender care.

The sound of his name made him jump. He was used to the infernal beep and a name flashing up on a screen to summon him to a doctor, rather than the doctor deigning to appear in the waiting room.

“I’m Doctor Catarina Loss,” the doctor told him once they reached her office, sitting down in her chair. She smiled at him. “But you can call me Cat, because that’s quite a mouthful, and I’m sure we’ll run into each other at least once a week in this town.”

Magnus laughed at her frankness. “Noted.”

“So, Magnus.” She flicked through the sheets of paper on her clipboard and clicked open a new screen on her computer. “A blood test and a medication review?”

“Much less bothersome than I normally am, I assure you.”

Catarina smiled indulgently, pulling a needle and three plastic containers out of a drawer. “No problems with needles?”

“I think that would have been knocked out of me about fifteen years ago.”

It only took Catarina a minute or two to take his blood samples. She explained the tests she was sending them off for, asked him a handful of routine questions about his testosterone shots, and printed off a prescription form. 

“You can order more when you need it from reception,” she told him.

Privately, Magnus knew that he wasn’t going to be in Stickwick long enough for that to be necessary, but he didn’t feel the need to say that to her. Instead, he thanked her and pocketed the form. 

Scrolling through what Magnus assumed were his medical records on her computer screen, Catarina frowned, tapped at her keyboard, and turned to him. 

“I’m sorry to have to ask you this,” she said, expression softening, “but it is important. When was the last time you had a pap smear?”

Magnus shot her a wry smile. “It’s alright. I’ve made my peace with that. And it was about a year ago.”

“Excellent.” She typed something out rapidly, and then swivelled her chair around so that she could face him properly. “I can see that you’re an old hand at all this, but I want to reassure you that if you do ever need anything, we’re here.”

Magnus tilted his head to one side. “You’ve done this before,” he observed, and then added, “I’m sorry, I know you can’t talk about other patients, but— Lots of GPs I’ve seen are terrible at dealing with trans patients.”

“It’s not covered very well in our training,” Catarina said. “It’s getting better, but—” She shrugged. “Yes, I have done this before.”

“Well, then, I am fully reassured.” Magnus stood up, sensing that the consultation was over. “Thank you.”

“Have a good day, Magnus,” Catarina said. “I’m sure I’ll see you in town. Hopefully not here, though.”

Magnus shook his head, bemused. Small towns were so goddamn weird.

***

By the time Magnus got home, having been to the pharmacy and then got himself embroiled in a conversation with Simon and Meliorn in the café, it was late. December was drawing near, and, with it, evenings were becoming darker. 

The countryside was creepy at night, Magnus thought. Despite the statistics stating that he was much more likely to be stabbed to death in London, he irrationally felt far less safe in Stickwick, with the trees casting long, scary shadows that looked like monsters. 

Creepy, Magnus thought, eyeing a hedge with distrust as he approached Rose Cottage. All manner of horrifying things were probably lurking in the undergrowth, desperate to eat him. 

There was another car in the back yard, Magnus realised, surprised. One much more suited to the lake-like puddles and boggy roads that his own struggled with. 

“Clary?” Magnus called, as he opened the front door and set his keys down in the fruit bowl that they’d had to remove from the kitchen in light of how unacceptably ugly it as. “If you’ve invited someone over to have sex, keep it down and I won’t take the piss!” He hung his jacket up, toed his boots off, and muttered under his breath, “Much.”

“ _Magnus Bane, you dick_ — Crap! Alec—”

Magnus’ eyebrows shot up. Well, that wasn’t the Lightwood sibling he expected to find in his house. He had no real evidence, but he’d rather thought that Alec Lightwood was gay. 

Maybe he was bisexual. The man definitely wasn’t straight. No straight man looked at other men the way Alec had been looking at Magnus at Meliorn’s party the previous weekend. 

“I’ve got her, I’ve got her,” he heard Alec say. “You go and...explain.”

Magnus frowned. What the hell was going on?

Clary appeared in the doorway a moment later, looking harried. Some of her hair had escaped from where she’d twirled it into a bun held in place by pencils. 

“Magnus,” she started. “I can explain.”

Dread pooled in Magnus’ stomach. “What did you do?”

“Well—”

A yelp sounded from the kitchen. Magnus’ eyes widened. That sound definitely didn’t belong to a human being. That sounded unmistakably canine. 

“Clarissa,” Magnus said, closing his eyes for a moment. “Please tell me that you didn’t get a dog.”

“No, of course not!”

Magnus sagged with relief. 

“Not exactly.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Explain. Now.”

“I was on my way home,” Clary said, looking anxious, “and I saw a dog caught where the fence wire has broken. You know, about halfway down the hill? And it was so scared, and it looked so thin and its fur was all matted, and I didn’t know what to do. Every time I went near it, it flinched away and started trying to bite me. Then I saw Alec come home, so I asked for help, and we...well.” She gestured behind her. “We rescued it.”

Sighing, Magnus closed the distance between them and pulled Clary into a one-armed hug. “I suppose I can hardly be annoyed with you for rescuing an innocent dog.”

“She’s really cute. Or, I think she will be, once we clean her up a bit. She’s calmer now.”

“Go on, then. Show me.”

And, okay, the dog really was cute. She had light mocha fur and floppy ears and wide brown eyes, and she whined quietly when Magnus appeared. The poor thing was soaked and trembling all over, and leaning into the slow, soothing strokes of Alec’s hand. 

Magnus was more of a cat person, but he admitted that the sight of the dog was heart-wrenching.

“Hey,” Alec said, voice low. He smiled at Magnus; it made the corners of his eyes crinkle, and, _fuck_. “Not quite what you expected to come home to, I imagine.”

“No,” Magnus agreed. “But I see that the situation is in your expert hands.”

“Oh, hardly.” Alec chuckled. “I was just saying to Clary that we should take her to the vet.”

“Stickwick has a vet?”

“Mmhm. I’m not surprised you haven’t passed it. It’s not in the main village. There’s a lambing farm not far away, and it’s closer to there, for obvious reasons. But I phoned ahead, and they said they’ll stay open for us to bring her in.”

Magnus frowned, and glanced at Clary, wondering if she had picked up on the impossibility in that statement. “You phoned? From here?”

Alec looked confused. “Yeah. I brought my mobile.”

“But there’s no phone signal. We’ve been whinging about it for weeks. It’s the entirety of our dinner conversation.”

“Oh.” Alec let out a laugh. “Switch to O2. Then you’ll get signal.”

Why couldn’t someone have told him that six weeks ago? It would helped his blood pressure so much. 

“Come on,” Alec said, running a broad palm down the shivering dog’s back. “Let’s get her checked out. Coming, Clary?”

“Of course! Uh...” Her grin dampened. “I can’t drive, though, so maybe I’d better take the dog.”

“I’ll drive,” Magnus found himself saying, quite before he’d given himself permission to. “Just...put a blanket down on the back seat?”

Clary rolled her eyes. Alec smiled.

And, dare Magnus think it, that smile almost looked fond.

***

Stickwick’s veterinary surgery was even more in the middle of nowhere than Rose Cottage. Clary had got used to the smell of farm, but here, it seemed far more potent. Probably because the surgery was literally right next to a farm. There was a pigsty not ten metres away. Surely that wasn’t very sanitary?

“You take her,” Alec said, shifting the dog from his arms to Clary’s without questioning her ability to care for animals. “I’ll find Iz.”

Clary was so busy cooing at the dog that her brain didn’t register Alec’s sentence until he was striding away on those unfairly long legs of his. Iz? Iz as in Isabelle? As in Isabelle Lightwood? Why would Isabelle be there?

“She is cute,” Magnus mused. 

It took Clary a moment to realise that he was talking about the dog, not Isabelle. 

“She is,” Clary agreed. “See? You can’t be annoyed with me for rescuing such a cutie.”

Magnus sighed. “Bugger.”

The trembling was beginning to dissipate, Clary thought, as she cradled the dog closer to her. Alec had hypothesised that she was just cold, and probably frightened. She certainly seemed to appreciate body heat.

Alec reappeared, beckoning them with a wave of his hand. “They’re ready.”

Inside an office that was mostly occupied by an examination table and a large cupboard, Isabelle stood in forest green scrubs with a stethoscope wound around her neck. Another woman was lounging against the table, also in scrubs. Hers were a paler green. 

Isabelle was a vet? How had Clary not known that? She hadn’t seen Isabelle since the party at the weekend, but still. Had they spent the whole night talking about her? Had she really not asked Isabelle something so basic as what she did for a living?

“I see you’re involving yourself in trouble, city people,” Isabelle said, grinning. “Bring the dog over. This is Maia, by the way. She’s my favourite nurse.”

Maia snorted. “Please. I’m your favourite person.”

Isabelle widened her eyes comedically. “You can’t say that in front of Alec! It’ll damage his ego!”

“Love you too, Iz,” Alec said.

Once the dog was released from Clary’s hold, Isabelle set about examining her. The dog wriggled, clearly not very pleased by some of Isabelle’s poking, but she didn’t bark, and she didn’t snap. Irrational as it was, Clary felt a little bit proud.

“No microchip,” Isabelle said, frowning. “But she’s healthy. Slightly hypothermic, but otherwise healthy.”

“Very well behaved, too,” Maia said, giving her a scratch under the chin, which the dog seemed to appreciate. “Who’s keeping her?”

“Obviously not going to be me, is it?” Alec reached out to pat the dog’s head affectionately. “Cute as you are, girl, I can’t bring you to work with me.”

“Aw.” Maia grinned. “I think I’d like to walk into your office and see a dog sitting on the floor. She could be a therapy dog for your patients. The kids would love that.”

“Unhygienic,” Alec said, and shrugged at Isabelle’s glare. “Pretty sure the GMC would not be impressed if a patient complained that I kept a dog in my office.”

“The GMC.” Isabelle rolled her eyes, and she and Alec said in synch, “The bloody GMC.”

Mystified, Clary turned to Magnus, who shrugged, apparently as clueless as she was. Maia saw their exchange, and shot them a wry smile. 

“Yes, they’re always like this.”

“Favourite person status being quickly revoked,” Isabelle told Maia. “But your question stands. Who’s keeping the dog?”

“We could have a dog,” Maia pointed out. She shot Alec a smirk. “No GMC tying our hands.”

 _Fuck you,_ Alec mouthed. 

_Fuck you too_ , Maia mouthed back. 

Stepping closer to where the dog was sitting patiently on the examination table, Clary reached out to pet her. The dog shifted eagerly, encouraging Clary’s affection; Clary’s heart melted. 

A long, loud sigh sounded from behind her. 

“Unless I am much mistaken,” Magnus said, “which I never am, this dog is going to be Clary’s.”

She turned to look at Magnus over her shoulder with pleading eyes. “Come on. Look at her! She’s so cute.”

“She is,” Magnus agreed. “But, on a practical note, we are only staying here for six months.”

“She can come back to London,” Clary said. “My landlord allows pets.”

Magnus relented with another sigh. “Fine! Fine. But you’re getting up at seven o’clock to walk her, not me.”

“Deal.” Clary grinned. “Is there paperwork? Do we have to sign something?”

Maia nodded. “Yeah, if you just—”

“Come back in the morning,” Isabelle said, interrupting. “It’s getting late. It’ll take you a while to fill everything out and work out insurance and supplies. We’ll give you some food and a bed for tonight, and then you can come back and sort out the rest tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Clary smiled, feeling a little shy under Isabelle’s gaze. “Okay.” She turned her attention back to the dog. “Are you ready to come home? Yeah?”

The dog’s tail wagged for the first time in response, as though she understood exactly what Clary was saying.

***

When Clary returned to the vet surgery the following morning, it was Maia who greeted her and the dog, and took her through all the many considerations that hadn’t occurred to her when she decided she wanted to keep the dog. 

“Have you decided on a name yet?” Maia asked, once the basics had been covered, and Clary was in the process of paying for all the supplies Maia had suggested. She wondered how much Magnus would complain when she called him to ask him for a lift home: there was no way she could carry all this.

“Not yet,” Clary said. “Magnus says he wants to call her Bowie, but I think he’s just messing with me.”

“Bowie?” Maia laughed. “Like David Bowie?”

“Yeah.” Clary smiled wryly. “He thinks he’s hilarious.”

After texting Magnus to explain her predicament and receiving a despairing but obliging message back, Clary bid Maia goodbye and went to stand in the entrance to the vets, waiting for the familiar sight of Magnus’ car. The dog, at the end of the lead, sat patiently, and remained still when a woman and young child came in, and the child went to pet her clumsily. 

“Clary?”

Clary turned at the sound of Isabelle’s voice, and smiled preemptively. “Hey. Fancy seeing you here.”

Isabelle’s lips curled up into a smile. She was holding a scrub cap in one hand, and there was a faint red mark on her face where, presumably, she’d had a surgical mask on. 

“I wanted to see you myself, but someone came in with their cat, and it couldn’t wait.”

“Oh, that’s okay. Maia was very thorough.”

“She always is,” Isabelle agreed. She scrunched her scrub cap up more tightly, and tilted her chin up. “Would you like to get dinner?”

Clary blinked, thrown by the abruptness of the question. “I– Would I–?”

“Like to get dinner,” Isabelle repeated. “You, me...” She smiled, swaying her shoulders flirtatiously. “To clarify, I’m asking you on a date.”

“Yes!” Clary grinned. “Of course I’d like to go to dinner with you.”

The smile stretched wider across Isabelle’s face, and the rich brown of her eyes softened and sparkled, and, god, she was beautiful. 

“In which case...” Isabelle pulled her phone out of the pocket of her scrubs, and handed it over to Clary, unlocked, her intent obvious. Clary typed in her number and passed it back. “Thank you. I have to go, but I’ll text you.”

“Yeah.” Clary felt a little breathless. “Yeah, that’s good. I’ll see you around, Isabelle.”

“See you around, Clary.”

With a final flash of a smile, Isabelle turned on her heel and disappeared down the corridor, leaving Clary staring after her in wonder. 

A moment later, her phone vibrated.

**[Unknown, 10:09]**

**You look really cute in that top**

The smile that tugged at Clary’s lips lasted for so long it made her cheeks ache. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who doesn’t know, the GMC is the General Medical Council, in charge of regulating doctors and protecting patients in the UK. The GMC is every medic’s greatest fear. (I’m kidding.) (I am not.)
> 
> I’ve said this when I’ve written trans characters before, but I’ll say it again here: I’m cis, but I was in a relationship with a trans man for several years, before, during and “after” his transition, so while I do not write from MY personal experience, I do write from personal experience (if that makes any sense at all 😅), and a great deal of research and involvement with the trans community. 
> 
> Obviously, not all trans people have the same experiences, so I’m always happy to hear from people, either in the comments or on social media! You can find me on [Tumblr](http://notcrypticbutcoy.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/notcrypticlu?lang=en)
> 
> Much love,   
> Lu <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Magnus gets a call from home, Isabelle takes Clary’s breath away, and the dog gets a name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: coming out

“Magnus. You’ve finally discovered how a phone call works, I see.”

Magnus rolled his eyes. After Alec’s helpful tip about switching his phone contract to O2, he’d been amazed to see two feeble bars of signal appear in the corner of his phone while he sat in his bedroom, listening to Clary rush around downstairs, getting ready to go out to work at the school.

Of course, the only person he had left in London that he wanted to call was Ragnor. Will and Jem and Tessa would only express their confusion about Magnus’ choice to move out of the city for a month, and Luke...

Well. If he spoke to Luke, he’d have to talk about Clary, and he didn’t much feel like having that conversation. 

“I will hang up on you if you’re rude,” Magnus told him. 

“Oh, do you know how to do that?”

“Fuck you, Fell.”

“Have you had any more disasters that required a rescue from the side of a small mountain by a hot doctor?” Ragnor asked innocently.

“This is the last time I ever call you. I’m writing you out of my life now.”

Ragnor chortled from the other end of the line. “You’d miss me too much.”

“I would be bullied much less.”

“Really.” Ragnor’s voice softened. “How are you? It’s impossible to gauge the truth with you over text.”

“I’m better,” Magnus admitted, only slightly grudgingly. “I got my blood pressure measured at the doctors’ the other day, and it was only one-twenty-three over eighty.”

“Bloody hell,” Ragnor said, sounding impressed. “That really is an improvement. Don’t go hurrying back to London.”

“Everyone here is very nice and friendly.”

“Oh.” Magnus could imagine Ragnor wrinkling his nose. “How repulsive.”

Magnus laughed, but it sounded a little hollow, even to his own ears. As much as he loved Ragnor, more than anybody else in the world, talking to him made his old life - his real life - seem that much closer. In Stickwick, he could ignore the past; he could pretend that it was just a hazy, far away memory; an alternate reality that no longer had any bearing on his world.

But that wasn’t it. Stickwick was the dream. London was the harsh, cold nightmare of waking. 

“Magnus, you do know that it doesn’t have to be six months, don’t you?”

Magnus blinked, confused. “What? You just said not to hurry back to London.”

“That’s not what I mean. I mean that you don’t have to come back to this. Stickwick doesn’t have to just be a break.”

The comment was so outrageous that Magnus choked on a half-laugh, half-snort, utterly incredulous that Ragnor would suggest such a thing. And he sounded serious! Ragnor knew as well as anyone that Magnus needed the pace and convenience of the city, not the slow, meandering step back into the 1950s that constituted country living.

Also, Magnus really liked his Audi, and if he lived in the country permanently, he’d have to get a more appropriate car. That was just not happening. No way.

“Ragnor,” Magnus said, shaking his head in amazement, “you must be joking.”

“I don’t mean you have to live in Stickwick. Even for me, that’s a bit too rural. But you could leave your insane city job. Get a nice house in the suburbs. Work normal hours with less cutthroat people. Live for life, not live for work.”

“I did leave my job,” Magnus pointed out. “I resigned. Because it was killing me.”

“But that’s my point!” Ragnor was beginning to sound frustrated. “You can– You can find a middle ground. You don’t have to come back to London to do something you hate.”

“Well, I was rather hoping I’d come back to London to do something I like.”

“You like writing,” Ragnor said bluntly. “You’ve always liked writing, ever since you were a kid. You liked writing right up until you did that bloody law conversion.”

“And I am writing! I am spending all my days here writing and eating pastries in a café and getting involved in people’s marital bickering, because apparently that’s normal out here.”

He was writing absolute shit, but Ragnor didn’t need to know that. He’d flicked through a folder of things he’d written when he was in sixth form, the other day, and the quality of writing of seventeen year old Magnus had been superior to the writing of thirty-one year old Magnus, as depressing as that was. The content wasn’t what he was interested in writing about now, but still. 

“Well, that’s good! Look, Magnus, I love you and I just want to see you happy. I’m just saying, you don’t have to do anything. You don’t have to conform to anybody’s expectations.”

Magnus scoffed. “When have I ever conformed to expectations? I am the epitome of non-conformity.”

“In many ways,” Ragnor allowed. “I’ll drop it for now. But please, just keep it in mind.”

Magnus sighed. He didn’t want to keep it in mind, because then he ran the risk of discovering that Ragnor might have a point, and he’d have to re-examine his entire life from that crossroads moment at twenty-one years old when he’d decided that he wanted to do law. He didn’t want to have to realise that that had been a horrible mistake, because then what would he do? Admit that he’d wasted a decade of his life?

No. He didn’t need an existential crisis. 

“Tell me about the doctor,” Ragnor said, mischief obvious in his voice.

Magnus groaned.

***

Isabelle Lightwood was a goddess. 

There was no other word for it. 

Clary met Isabelle outside her home, which was a petite thatched cottage close to the centre of the village, feeling queasy with nerves. The sight of Isabelle on the other side of the front door didn’t help in the slightest.

She looked like a princess from a fairytale, standing on the threshold of her house, surrounded by climbing roses stretching up the walls and evergreen shrubs dotted around the front garden. There was even an uneven stone pathway that led from a squat wooden fence, complete with a squeaky gate and a bird feeder.

But Isabelle didn’t need any of that to take Clary’s breath away. Gone were the scrubs and the stethoscope, to be replaced with a figure-hugging dress in burgundy, towering black heels and a blow-dry that looked like it had been done by a professional. She wouldn’t have looked out of place on a red carpet, frankly. 

“You look lovely,” Isabelle said, smiling warmly. “Black suits you. Makes your hair stand out.”

Clary needed to pull it together. Isabelle was giving her such thoughtful compliments, and she could barely string a sentence together. 

“I think everything suits you,” Clary said.

Isabelle laughed, closing the front door behind her and moving forward to link her arm through Clary’s without hesitation.

“Not orange,” she said. “Or lime green. Or pale blue.”

“Does orange suit anyone?” Clary asked wryly, glancing over at Isabelle. 

“Probably not,” Isabelle conceded. “Perhaps Magnus could pull it off.”

He probably could, the jammy bastard. At university, Magnus had used to wear the most outrageous things that would have looked ridiculous on anyone else, but, somehow, the outfits always looked stunning on him.

“So, where are we going?” Clary’s eyes darted down to Isabelle’s heels. Presumably they weren’t going far: nobody could walk far in shoes like those, and Isabelle was leading her past her car, so they clearly weren’t going to drive.

“We’re not going to a venue,” Isabelle said. “I hope that’s okay. I’m sure you’ve been to all the establishments that Stickwick has to offer by now, so I thought I’d show you some of my favourite parts of the village. And—” she held up her handbag “–I’ve brought wine.”

“That sounds perfect,” Clary told her, as they turned left and strolled up a narrow road that Clary had never been down before. “I wanted to apologise to you.”

“Apologise?” Isabelle’s eyebrows shot up. “Why? What for?”

“At Meliorn’s party– I realised that we spent the entire time talking about me.”

Isabelle shrugged. “You don’t need to apologise for that. I was interested.”

“I didn’t even know that you’re a vet.”

“Well, now you do.” Isabelle smiled, and gestured with the hand holding her handbag. “We’re going up an unpaved path now. Just to warn you.” She grinned. “It’s getting rural.”

Clary didn’t mind at all. She watched, stunned, as Isabelle brought them up to a wooden fence, unwound her arm from Clary’s, and began to climb over the fence in her six-inch heels and dress. Clary gaped as she hopped down on the other side with both ankles unbroken. 

“Coming?” Isabelle asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Uh, yeah.”

Clary climbed over the fence without too much trouble, in dark jeans and flats, and grabbed Isabelle’s hand without thinking about it once she was on the other side. If the smile on her face was any indication, Isabelle didn’t seem to mind.

“Did you and Magnus decided on a name for the dog, yet?”

“Oh.” Clary laughed. “Yeah. Callie. Have you seen Grey’s Anatomy?”

“Of course. Alec and I watched it in the holidays when we were at university. Spent a lot of time yelling at how unrealistic it was, of course.”

Of course, Clary thought fondly.

“Magnus and I used to watch it together, too. Callie was our favourite character.”

“Aw.” Isabelle grinned. “That’s cute. So how is Callie?”

“She’s so well behaved. She already knew how to sit, and she hasn’t messed up the house too much, and she definitely knows what ‘walk’ means.” Clary shook her head. “Even Magnus is in love with her.”

Their conversation comes easily as they continue walking up the path, Clary still amazed at Isabelle’s ability to walk in shoes like those. Eventually, Isabelle tugged her off the path and onto a grassy clearing surrounded by trees, and—

“Oh, wow,” Clary breathed.

Isabelle had taken her to what was clearly a high point on one side of the village. Stickwick was situated down below them in the valley, and Isabelle and Clary had the perfect vantage point to watch the sun set behind it. The light was already dying, an orange-pink glow settling across the village.

“Wow,” Clary said again, awed. “It’s so beautiful.”

“Isn’t it?” Isabelle came to stand just behind her right shoulder; Clary could feel the warmth of her breath on her neck, and it made her shiver. “It does get cold up here once the sun sets, so I’ve brought a blanket, but—”

Clary turned to face her. “Isabelle, this is perfect. Really. Thank you so much for bringing me here.”

Isabelle smiled, small and soft, and reached out to brush a strand of hair away from Clary’s face. Her fingertips lingered for just a moment before she pulled away. The touch felt like a trail of fiery warmth.

“Wine,” Isabelle said, pulling a bottle and two glasses from her handbag. She offered one to Clary.

“You’ve really thought this through,” Clary observed, noting that the bottle had a screw cap, not a cork, and that the glasses were, in fact, plastic.

“Well, I didn’t want to be a lousy date, now did I?”

They chinked their glasses together, the plastic making the sound dull, but it didn’t matter. As Clary took a sip of her wine to hide her smile, she thought that, already, this might be the best date she’d ever been on.

***

It was eight o’clock in the evening by the time Magnus realised that Callie hadn’t been walked since mid-morning. Swearing, he dropped his dinner plate and cutlery in the sink - because of course a countryside home couldn’t have a dishwasher - and went to pull on his boots and coat.

The jangle of the lead made Callie perk up from where she was laying by the warmth of the oven, head on her paws. Her tail wagged slowly from side-to-side, almost like she didn’t want to be too eager lest she be disappointed. 

Damnit, why was Magnus becoming so attached so easily? He’d only known Simon and Raphael for a few weeks, and, already, he felt ready to leap to their defence any the slightest provocation. Not to mention Meliorn and Isabelle, and, dare he think it, _Alec_. 

And now Callie. 

“I am a mess, Callie,” he said, He shook her lead, making the clip clink harder. “Wanna go for a walk?”

Callie jumped up and dashed over, tail wagging frantically. 

If only his life could be so simple, Magnus thought, as he attached the lead and opened the door to take her out. 

And, as though the world was determined to make his life as complicated as it could manage, there was Alec, locking his car, clearly just home after an evening shift at the surgery. Callie barked out a greeting, and strained at the lead. 

“Oh, go on, then,” Magnus grumbled, reaching down to undo her lead. “If you run off, I will be very disappointed.”

Callie, of course, shot up the hill to say hello to Alec the moment Magnus let her go. Even from halfway down, Magnus could hear Alec’s surprised laughter, and could make out his grin as he crouched down to say greet her. 

“Yes, yes, I love you too,” Alec was saying as Magnus approached, laughing and pushing her gently away as Callie tried to lick his face. “Look, here’s someone else who loves you.”

Callie twisted under Alec’s pats to look at Magnus, and she barked excitedly, tail going so quickly that it looked blurry. 

Unfortunately, Magnus was a little distracted by Alec kneeling in the dirt in his nice smart trousers, getting dog hair all over his work clothes. Since when did Magnus find things like that attractive? What the hell was Stickwick doing to him? It was turning him into a whole new person. 

“How are you doing?” Alec asked, scratching absently at Callie’s fur, to her obvious delight. 

“Wonderfully,” Magnus said dryly. “Better, now I can make a phone call.”

Alec huffed out a laugh. “I can’t believe you went more than a month with only shit WiFi. Could you even send a text?”

“Nope. Thank you, by the way.”

“You’re welcome.” 

Alec smiled that intense, hazel-eyed smile, and Magnus’ heart stuttered. The Lightwoods had ridiculous genes. They were all stunning. The London crowd would be obsessed with them. They’d have people hanging onto their every word.

“There was–” 

Alec cleared his throat, gaze flickering down to where he was still stroking Callie. Was he nervous? Since when did Alec Lightwood do nervous? 

“There was something I wanted to talk to you about,” Alec said. “And it’s maybe a little premature, but in a town this size, things can get a bit messy, so we—” He shook his head. “I saw your name on the patient list the other day.”

“Oh.” Magnus shrugged. “Well, you are a doctor. It doesn’t bother me. I was there for my T shots, if you must know.”

Alec opened his mouth, paused, and closed it again. Magnus could see the cogs turning in his mind, the doctor in him analysing what that meant, what that could mean, what the most likely meaning was, and he saw the moment he settled on the correct conclusion.

In truth, Magnus had said it in the hope that Alec would understand. Because Magnus wasn’t in Stickwick to start a relationship, and he certainly wasn’t there to get his heart broken. He couldn’t bear to have Alec keep flirting with him, only to backtrack the moment he found out that Magnus was trans. 

It had happened so many times before. Gay cis men were fucking _obsessed_ with penises. Magnus wasn’t going to take any chances. Not when he was in Stickwick to improve his mental state. 

“Oh,” was all Alec said. “Right. I’m sorry, please know that I wasn’t implying that you had to tell me anything. I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” Magnus said, interrupting him. He didn’t want to make Alec feel bad. A small smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “I’m not ashamed of who I am.”

Alec’s expression softened. “And nor should you be. Ever.”

“I’m done derailing your conversation now,” Magnus told him, with an apologetic grin. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

“There are very complicated rules about who doctors are allowed to treat, and who doctors have to treat, and who doctors have a legal duty of care to,” Alec said slowly. “I won’t bore you with the particulars, but, for obvious reasons, it can get very tricky and impractical in a rural setting.”

“You mean because you know lots of your patients on a friendly basis?”

“Exactly,” Alec said, nodding. “The relationship between me and my patients is very different to a city doctor and their patients. Legally, I am bound to care for anyone on the practice list. In reality, that doesn’t work, because I can’t treat my sister, for example, but it’s not practical for her to register elsewhere, because it would be too far away.”

“Right,” Magnus said, not really seeing where Alec was going with this. 

“We have a system. So, Dot is Isabelle’s doctor, for example, and all of Isabelle’s medical records are hidden from me on the systems, so there’s no conflict on interest, and I’m not abusing my position. Does that make sense?”

“Perfect sense.”

Alec glanced down at Callie, who had settled from her earlier excitement, and then back up at Magnus. “When I saw your name today, I felt like I was doing something wrong. It felt inappropriate.”

Oh. _Oh_.

“Are you—”

“I think it would be for the best if your records are not accessible to me,” Alec said, holding Magnus’ gaze. “Is that okay?”

“Yes of course,” Magnus said, “but to clarify, are you—?”

“Don’t clarify,” Alec said, with a low, tantalising chuckle. “I can’t clarify. I don’t know. But the way we were talking at Meliorn’s party, I–” He shook his head. “It’s not appropriate for us to flirt like that while I have access to that kind of information about you.”

“I understand,” Magnus said. “At least, I think I do.”

“Good.” Alec looked relieved. He straightened up out of his crouch, much to Callie’s obvious displeasure, judging by the low whine she let out. “I’ll let you go, now.”

“Goodnight, Alexander,” Magnus said, Alec’s full name slipping out without his permission.

Surprise flashed across Alec’s face, to be quickly replaced with something just a little heated.

“Goodnight, Magnus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alec is afraid of the GMC, exhibit B.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Clary tells Magnus about her date, Magnus is reluctant to admit that he’s sick, and someone brings chocolate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: chocolate

When Clary awoke the following morning, she spent a moment laying in bed grinning up at the ceiling like a fool. Her date with Isabelle had been perfect. They’d both got pleasantly tipsy on the wine, and they’d sat close, shoulders and thighs pressed together as they’d watched the sun dip below the horizon, and Clary had offered Isabelle her jacket on their walk back, and—

Well, okay, there hadn’t been a good night kiss. But that was okay, right? It didn’t mean anything. Isabelle had smiled at her, that soft smile accompanied by her unwavering gaze, and bid her goodnight in a low voice, and—

Fuck. That seemed like a friendly end to a date. Oh, god, no, she didn’t want to be friends with Isabelle. She wanted to kiss her until neither of them could breath and peel her out of that figure-hugging dress or rip off her scrubs.

In the kitchen, Magnus had apparently been up for a while. He was sitting drinking coffee, Callie napping under the table at his feet. She popped her head up when Clary descended the stairs, and leapt up to say hello, tail wagging eagerly.

“Hi!” Clary said, reaching down to pet her. “Good morning to you too.”

“How was your date?” Magnus asked, voice sounding a little raspy.

Clary set about making herself a coffee while she told Magnus all about it. He hummed along to her story, sounding appropriately enthusiastic at the right moments. She told him her early-morning worries about whether or not their goodbye had been too platonic; Magnus snorted. 

“I have never seen someone look at you less platonically than Isabelle does.”

“Really? I just don’t want there to be any confusion, you know?”

“You’re fulfilling about five lesbian stereotypes with that one sentence,” Magnus said wryly. “I promise, she likes you in the same way you like her.”

Frowning, Clary stirred milk into her coffee and walked back over to the kitchen table. She peered down at Magnus, scrutinising his face. He was wearing make-up, so it was difficult to ascertain whether he looked paler than normal, but he definitely sounded off. 

“Are you alright?” Clary asked, tilting her head to one side. 

“Of course, darling.” Magnus smiled. “Never better.”

“You don’t sound very fine. You sound like you’ve got a cold.”

As though to prove her point, Magnus sneezed violently. Under the table, Callie jumped. 

“Yeah,” Clary said. “That’s really healthy.”

“It was just a—”

Magnus sneezed again, three times. Clary raised her eyebrows. 

“Fine,” Magnus muttered. “Perhaps I am not quite as infallible as I like to pretend. It’s just a cold.”

“Mm. Don’t go wandering around the village today. It’s pouring with rain.”  
“Really?” Magnus gestured at the window, through which they couldn’t even see as far as Alec’s house due to the low-hanging clouds spewing fat droplets of rain onto the hill. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“You’re definitely ill,” Clary said. “You’re rude when you’re ill.”

“I am not!”

“Uh huh.“

Magnus glared at her. Clary rather thought that that proved her point. 

“I’m going into the village to buy some food,” Clary said a few minutes later, moving over to snatch their grocery list off of where it was stuck to the fridge. “Any special requests?”

“Paracetamol.”

Clary clucked her tongue in sympathy, and immediately hated herself: it was the sort of thing her mother would do. Much as Clary loved her mother, she did not want to become her. Certainly not if it involved her most annoying habits. Like clucking. And tutting. And passive aggressive huffing. 

She loved her mother. Really. 

“Is that you admitting that you’re sick?” Clary asked, plucking her keys from the fruit bowl that was a personal insult to her as a self-proclaimed artist.

Magnus glowered. “I already admitted that I might have a cold. Now I am acknowledging that I would like some painkillers to relieve my headache. You should be lauding my personal growth.”

“Right.” Clary looked down at Callie, who was fully awake and alert, watching Clary with laser-like focus. “I think Callie wants to come.”

“Fine! Take away my personal foot heater! I’m only moderately sick, it’s fine.”

“Stop being so dramatic,” Clary told him, lips twitching. “You’re only ever this dramatic when you’re sick.”

She called Callie over, attached her lead, and, after a moment’s consideration, tugged on a scarf and stuffed a pair of gloves in her coat pocket. Late November was cold anywhere, but it was a lot colder in Stickwick than it was in smoggy, built-up London. Clary despised the cold.

“There’s a blanket on the end of the sofa,” Clary called out. “I was using it yesterday. It’s very warm!”

She didn’t wait for Magnus’ response, knowing that it would be some snarky comment about her inability to cope with the cold or Rose Cottage not having sufficient central heating. The front door shut behind her with a click, and she tugged gently on Callie’s lead to encourage her in the right direction.

“Come on,” she said, pulling her hood up to protect her against the rain. “Up the muddy hill. We’re doing a quick detour before we go into town...”

***

Magnus hated being ill. 

It was boring. It was a waste of time. It was impossible to do anything or enjoy anything or concentrate on anything. Food ceased to taste nice. TV was no longer entertaining. Books made things hurt and the glare of a phone screen induced a headache within minutes. 

Admitting that he was ill also meant admitting that he would do nothing with his day but be grumpy and miserable and probably annoy the crap out of Clary. 

And she’d stolen Callie. 

Magnus was in the middle of lounging on the sofa feeling sorry for himself when the doorbell rang. He frowned. Nobody ever rang the doorbell. Nobody ever came to visit. Why would they, when the main village was only a fifteen minute walk away?

Groaning, Magnus hauled himself to his feet, scrubbed a hand through his hair, and went to greet whoever had decided to deign him with their presence. 

Magnus blinked when he opened the door. “Alec.”

“Hi,” Alec said, with one of those damn smiles of his. His fingers flexed on the handle of his umbrella. “Clary told me that you weren’t feeling well.”

“Oh.”

Magnus shook himself. Of course that was why Alec had turned up: to be nice and doctorly and professional, or whatever. Why else would he have come?

“Well, thank you for walking down–” _in the pouring rain_ “–but I’ve just got a cold. I don’t think I need urgent medical attention.”

“No, no,” Alec said, expression morphing into one of amusement. “I’m not here to be a doctor. But it’s my day off, and I thought you might like some company. And sympathy. And chocolate.”

“Chocolate?”

“Chocolate still tastes like chocolate when you’re ill,” Alec said, with a shrug. “And it’s great comfort food.”

“Isn’t that ice cream?”

“Ice cream when you’ve got a cold?” Alec pulled a face. “Rank.”

The image of Alec Lightwood screwing up his face in disgust while he declared ice cream _rank_ was enough to make Magnus laugh. He opened the door wider and stepped aside, gesturing for Alec to come in. 

“You really didn’t have to,” Magnus said, as Alec left his wet wellies, coat and umbrella by the door and followed Magnus into the living room. “Do you want a drink?”

“I’ll do that,” Alec said, waving Magnus’ offer off. “Here.” He tossed a bar of something onto the sofa. “Chocolate. And Clary mentioned something about paracetamol, so I brought you some of that, too. Tea?”

Magnus melted. Maybe he wouldn’t even pretend to be annoyed with Clary for meddling in his life by sending Alec over. She clearly had ulterior motives, but maybe Magnus didn’t care. Maybe Alec walking through to the kitchen, already rooting around for mugs and flicking the kettle on, was so nice that he didn’t feel the need to pretend to be put-out. 

“Here,” Alec said, setting a mug on a placemat. “Milk, no sugar.”

“As God intended,” Magnus joked. “Thank you.”

“No worries.”

Alec settled back on the sofa next to Magnus, in a slightly more upright position than the one Magnus was favouring, and the two of them lasted into a contented silence. Magnus unwrapped the chocolate and offered some to Alec, who shook his head. 

It was nice, Magnus thought. Relaxing. Reclining on the sofa with the soft sound of somebody breathing beside him and the patter of rain on the windows—it felt homely. 

“How’s your headache?” Alec asked several minutes later, voice low. 

“How d’you know I’ve got a headache?” Magnus mumbled, opening one eye to frown at Alec.

“That way you’re resting your head against the sofa like it’s the only thing that gives you relief.”

Was that the kind of observation Alec made because of his medical training, or just because that was the kind of man he was, Magnus wondered? 

“It’s better now I’ve taken painkillers,” Magnus said, watching Alec closely.

“Maybe you should go to bed.”

“I’m not that ill,” Magnus protested, sitting up a little just to prove his point. “See? I’m fine. If I were back in London I’d have gone to work like this, no questions asked.”

“Mmm.” Alec’s lips formed a thin line at that. “But was that because you felt you had to, or because you really felt up to it?”

It was the former. Clearly, Alec knew that. But that was the way the world worked—people went to work with colds, looking tired and snotty and with hacking coughs, and they got through the day and went home to collapse, exhausted. People who stayed off work for minor things like coughs and colds were considered weak.

Even in Magnus’ own head, it sounded stupid. What kind of society functioned that way? 

“Shush,” was all Magnus said in response.

“You don’t have to be hardcore like that out here. We’re hardcore in different ways.”

“Stop saying _hardcore_ ,” Magnus told him, brow furrowing. “Such filth from a medical professional.”

Alec choked on a laugh. Magnus slitted his eyes open, not wanting to miss the glorious sight of Alec laughing. 

“I take it all back,” Alec said. “You’re not that ill.”

Magnus smirked. “See? That’s the attitude we like to hear.”

Alec shook his head, but he was still smiling, looking at Magnus as though he really cared. 

And maybe he did care. Maybe Magnus’ doubt was unfounded, in this case. But history told him to be wary; so, however pretty Alec’s eyes were - and they were very pretty - he was going to be cautious. He refused to take one step forward only to take two back. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Alec said, but the warmth in his eyes suggested that he didn’t mean it as an insult. If anything, it sounded fond. 

Magnus liked that concept—Alec Lightwood having fond feelings towards him.

Magnus didn’t mean to fall asleep, but with the gentle patter of the rain and the tangible warmth rolling off of Alec beside him, he found himself drifting off. 

When he awoke later, Alec had gone, and he could hear Clary clattering around in the kitchen. But someone had covered him with a blanket, and two more paracetamol sat beside a glass of water, on top of a scrap of paper that told him not to take them before four o’clock. A quick glance at the clock told him that it was nearly six. 

He picked up the water and the pills, and noticed another line on the bottom of the paper. 

_PS - even sick, you look beautiful_

Magnus stared at the message, eyes flickering back and forth in an attempt to reassure himself that his infected brain wasn’t cooking up some kind of delirium-induced vision. But no. It was real. And fuck if that didn’t have him feeling warm and silly and fuzzy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, she-who-must-not-be-named has been saying some rather unpleasant things on Twitter, lately, so in her honour (not) here are some organisations doing good things for trans people that you should check out (& support):
> 
> [The Trevor Project’s Guide to Being an Ally](https://www.thetrevorproject.org/resources/trevor-support-center/a-guide-to-being-an-ally-to-transgender-and-nonbinary-youth/)  
> [The Kaleidoscope Trust](https://kaleidoscopetrust.com/)   
> [The Okra Project](https://www.theokraproject.com/)
> 
> Much love, Lu <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which it snows, they have a snowball fight, and Magnus is persuaded to go tobogganing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: snow

Alexander Lightwood was a master of evasion.

Since he’d told Magnus he was beautiful via a hastily scrawled note, Alec had done what could only be described as a disappearing act. Every morning when Magnus had woken, his car had already been gone from the driveway, and every evening, he managed to sneak inside without Magnus or Clary noticing him.

Clary kept telling him just to go over one evening and talk to him, but Magnus didn’t know what he’d say. They kept flirting, and they kept skirting around each other, and now Alec had called him beautiful. Was that Alec putting the ball in Magnus’ proverbial court? Did Magnus even want the ball? Did he want to hit it back or hammer it out of the stadium?

Possibly Magnus was overthinking his metaphors. 

***

On a Saturday morning that marked the first of December, Magnus and Clary awoke to six inches of snow outside, and more falling in fat, fluffy flakes from the sky. The entire world outside their windows was bathed in a blanket of white, undisturbed but for a few animal tracks running across the hill. 

It was gorgeous, Magnus thought, wonderstruck, as he stood by the kitchen sink, cradling his morning coffee between his palms and staring out of the window. The trees, now bare but for the few evergreens, were so perfectly lined with snow that it looked like an image from a Christmas card. There was even a robin hopping between the branches of a chestnut tree. 

Then he saw Callie. He blanched. 

Snow was all well and good, when it was outside. The thought of having to leave the comforting warmth of the kitchen to brave the cold and the wet? It sounded like something right out of Magnus’ nightmares. But Callie needed a walk. They couldn’t keep her inside all day, and there was no way all of that snow was melting any time soon, either. 

“Slight problem,” Clary called from the hallway. “I can’t get the front door open.”

Magnus pulled a face, set his coffee down, and went over to help her. To her credit, it was quite firmly stuck. He had to brace himself to knock it open, and nearly tumbled face-first into the snow on the other side when it eventually gave. 

For a moment, he and Clary stood in the doorway, staring.

“Do we have a shovel anywhere?” Magnus asked, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight.

“Nope.”

“I didn’t think so.” He glanced down at Callie, who was staring at the snow with her hackles half-raised. His lips quirked in amusement. “Guess it’s time to call in the cavalry.”

***

To her surprise, when Clary called Alec to ask if he had a shovel that he could spare, she was informed that he’d be over in a minute—with Isabelle.

She hadn’t been prepared for that. Not that she was complaining. They’d only been on two dates, and Isabelle still hadn’t kissed her yet, but she couldn’t stop smiling in Isabelle’s presence. Or when Isabelle texted. Or just crossed her mind. 

Clary and Magnus watched from inside the safety and comfort of Rose Cottage as Alec appeared out of the front door, wrapped up in a puffy coat, scarf and gloves, and carrying—

“Is that a toboggan?” Magnus asked, sounding as astonished as Clary felt. “Are they– Oh my god, they are. Clarissa, these people are insane.”

“I don’t know,” Clary mused, as Isabelle appeared behind Alec and dropped a handful of snow down the back of his coat. “It looks kind of fun.”

Mystified, they watched Alec and Isabelle climb onto wooden toboggans that looked significantly too small, and slide down the hill at a truly alarming speed, whooping. They both pulled to an almost-controlled stop at the bottom of the hill, grinning. Clary had to admit, it was an effective way of travelling. 

“Next they’ll start skiing down there,” Magnus muttered.

“Aw, come on.” Clary elbowed him. “They are coming to help us.”

“You know full well that I am jealous because I could never look that smooth and coordinated tobogganing.”

Clary grinned. “Yeah. I know.”

A forceful knock on their front door cut their conversation short. Outside, Isabelle was shaking snow out of her hat, and Alec was brandishing a shovel.

“Don’t get snow like this in London, huh?” Isabelle called, grinning. “Hi, babe.”

“Hi,” Clary said, glad that she could blame the cold on the way her cheeks turned a deep shade of red. She could feel Magnus giving her a look. She desperately wanted to stick her tongue out at him, but she refused to be that childish. 

“Is your car four-wheel drive?” Alec asked, raising an eyebrow at Magnus. 

“No. Rear wheel.”

“Don’t drive it,” Isabelle advised him, placing her hat back on her head and adjusting the two french braids she’d put her hair into. “You’re almost certain to get into an accident.”

“That’s very reassuring, Isabelle, thank you,” Magnus said, smiling pleasantly.

“I see why you needed the shovel,” Alec said, peering up at the overhang of the roof. 

Magnus frowned, stepping closer to the threshold to look up; Clary did the same. Behind them, Callie was sniffing at a few flakes of snow that had landed inside the house. 

“What do you mean?” Clary asked, not sure what Alec was getting at.

Alec pointed at the edge of the roof with the shovel. “See here—”

And he swiped the shovel right through the snow, tipping it all over their heads. Clary screamed at the freezing ice sliding down the back of her neck and all down her face. 

“Fuck you!” she shouted, to which Alec and Isabelle doubled over, laughing hysterically. 

“Come on, city people!” Isabelle said, backing out into the snow with her arms out wide and a dangerous glint in her eye. “Come and get us!”

Clary exchanged a glance with Magnus. He gave her a sharp nod. Oh, it was on. 

Magnus was the first to bend down, pack a snowball together, and aim one right at Alec’s chest. Alec’s eyes went wide, and he stared at Magnus, looking a little shocked, before a grin spread across his face, and he crouched down to retaliate. 

After that, it was war. 

Clary found herself ducking behind Magnus as Isabelle rained down what seemed like a hundred snowball on her. She’d barely formed one to toss back before Isabelle had another five ready to go at her feet. Callie had ventured out of the house, and was running between them, jumping up to try to catch falling snowflakes in her teeth.

“Come on, Fray!” Isabelle said, now standing several metres up the hill, giving her the advantage of high ground. “You’re making this too easy. I almost feel mean.”

Oh, if that didn’t fire up Clary’s competitive instincts, nothing would. 

Rather than waste time making snowballs while getting pelted endlessly, Clary began running up the hill towards Isabelle, laughing as she shielded herself from the onslaught. 

“I’m not going to be nice just because you’re getting close!”

Clary turned to look over her shoulder at Magnus, engaged in a more even snowball fight against Alec, looking brighter than he had in years. She caught his eye, and jerked her head subtly at Isabelle. Magnus winked. 

A snowball hit Isabelle square in the chest. While she was distracted, eyes narrowed as she tried to work out whether it had been Magnus or her brother, Clary crept up beside her, trying to make her footfalls quiet in the snow, and—

“ _Oof!_ ”

They both landed in the snow, Isabelle flat on her back and Clary braced over her. Triumphant, Clary reached down to grab a handful of snow, and tossed it at Isabelle’s head. Revenge truly was sweet, she thought, as Isabelle spluttered and flinched at the cold. 

“Do I win?” Clary asked, raising her eyebrows and grinning. 

Isabelle grinned right back. “Snowballs? No, I definitely won that. Being sneaky? Maybe.” She paused, and her eyes made a slow, obvious track down to Clary’s lips and then back up. “But, really, I feel like I’m the winner, here.”

Clary felt the humour dissipate from her expression. Heart beating in double-time, she swallowed, letting her own gaze drop to Isabelle’s lips for a moment. 

“Yeah?” she asked, voice low. 

“Definitely.”

Isabelle curled a cold, gloved hand around the back of her neck and brought her in for a kiss. Her lips were warm in comparison to the icy cold penetrating everything else. Clary felt her eyelashes flutter as she tilted her head, leaning into the kiss with a soft sigh. Isabelle’s hand slid down her neck, pressing into the small of her back, and Clary shivered. Though, this time, not from the cold.

They broke apart slowly, lips brushing tantalisingly as they pulled away. Isabelle’s eyes stayed closed for a few seconds, as though she was savouring the taste of Clary’s kiss. It made something deep in Clary’s gut stir.

She looked beautiful like this, Clary thought. Her face was entirely free of make-up, and her cheeks were flushed with cold, with snowflakes clinging to her lashes and hair and her lips reddened from their kiss. 

Eventually, Isabelle opened her eyes. She smiled.

“I wasn’t planning on kissing you for the first time in front of my brother and Magnus,” Isabelle confessed, voice low, for Clary’s ears only. 

Clary shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t think either of them are paying much attention. Do you?”

“I hope not,” Isabelle murmured, to which Clary laughed. “I’m going to kiss you again now.”

Clary was already leaning in, helpless against Isabelle’s relentless draw. “Please do.”

***

“Truce!” Alec yelled, curling over as Magnus tossed snowballs at his back in retaliation after Alec had dropped snow down his neck, again. “Truce, I’m sorry!”

“Fine,” Magnus huffed. “Truce.”

Alec uncurled from his defensive position and squinted one eye at Magnus in clear suspicion. “Truce?”

“Truce.”

“This is when Isabelle does something doubly evil.”

“I’m not Isabelle.” Although, the idea was compelling. As revenge, of course. Magnus still didn’t think they were entirely even. “Truce.”

The devilish grin that spread across Alec’s face made Magnus fear, for a moment, that Alec would be the one to dishonour their truce. But he didn’t. Instead, he gestured to the two abandoned toboggans at the bottom of the hill, and quirked an eyebrow at Magnus. 

“Oh, no,” Magnus said, holding up his hands. “The last time I did that I was about six and I’m quite sure I nearly died.”

Alec rolled his eyes fondly, striding down past Magnus’ place on the hill and patting him on the shoulder. “I would bet my career that you did not nearly die. Come on. It’s fun!”

“My death is fun?” Magnus demanded. “Don’t those kinds of comments go against your precious GMC rules?”

Alec grinned over his shoulder, picking up one toboggan in each hand. “Nah. We’re allowed to take the mick out of suited city guys who are too afraid to go sledding.”

Magnus narrowed his eyes. “I am not afraid.”

“Come on, then!” Alec waved him up the hill with far too much enthusiasm. “Let’s slid down the hill at thirty miles an hour on a flimsy bit of wood! What could possibly go wrong?”

Magnus outright glared at him for that one. Alec snickered. 

“One day, I will become so adept at country living that I will shock you all with my prowess.”

“Yeah?” Alec grinned. “I’ll look forward to that. Now–” he passed Magnus one of the toboggans “–let’s recreate your near-death experience.”

Feeling decidedly dubious about the whole thing, Magnus seated himself as gracefully as he could manage, in chunky boots on six inches of snow. He glanced over at Alec, who was watching him expectantly, and inhaled deeply. Tiny little kids did this. He could damn well manage it. 

And, okay, maybe Alec was a little bit right. Maybe it was quite fun. 

He found himself whooping quite without permission, laughing at the sensation of the wind rushing through his hair and the falling snow biting at his cheeks. Somewhere, he could hear Alec making similar sounds of jubilance. 

As the end of the hill neared, Magnus pulled tight on the ropes of the toboggan, foolishly expecting that it would stop in plenty of time, like his Audi. 

It didn’t, of course, and he found himself hitting a chunk of ice and rolling the rest of the way down the hill, stopping in a heap at the bottom. He was still laughing when Alec skidded inelegantly off his own toboggan, and ended up flat on his back in the snow beside him. 

“Okay,” Magnus said, turning his head to look at Alec but making no effort to get up. “That was fun.”

“I told you!”

Smiling, Magnus rolled his eyes. “It’s possible that you were right.”

The snow was settling in Alec’s hair, and his fingers itched to brush it all out, just for the excuse to _touch_. Especially with the unwavering way Alec was looking at him. It made Magnus want to do all sorts of foolish things—like kiss him breathless.

Much like Isabelle and Clary appeared to be doing halfway up the hill, he noticed.

“Again?” Alec asked, raising an eyebrow.

Magnus found himself grinning. “Again.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the author uses the fic to (un)subtly complain about the clientele in pubs, Katie Hopkins, and Islington Elites.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: closet

Pubs in London were shit. Magnus had always thought so, even as a student. The ones that were left had lost their old-British feel, and they were always rammed with people, and, frankly, Magnus had never been entirely sold on the idea of traditional British things being undeniably good. Especially when, despite his very English accent and a name that even white Brits couldn’t pronounce wrongly, he’d spent a non-insignificant amount of time in the playground being called racial slurs.

Magnus preferred a nice, classy bar to a pub. Fewer middle-aged white men with beer bellies, fewer white men in suits who worked half as hard as Magnus to get to the same point (with double the bonus), and fewer arguments about whether drinking bitter instead of lager made you a true man. 

Whatever the fuck that meant. 

So, when Meliorn sent him a text to invite him to a pub night, Magnus hadn’t been quite as enthusiastic as Clary, who’d lit up the moment she’d learnt that Isabelle would be there. 

“No terrifying bouncer on the door,” Clary noted, as Magnus pulled up into the car park. And, wasn’t that a novelty—driving to a place and being able to park right outside. London could never. 

“You remember that time the bouncer couldn’t add, and thought you were underage?” Magnus asked, a grin catching at his lips. 

“Not as bad as the time the security at the club thought my ID was fake. I can’t help having a youthful face!”

“You don’t anymore, darling.”

“Thank y— Wait, was that an insult?” Clary frowned. Magnus laughed. “Magnus!”

Inside, Magnus let out a breath of relief. The clientele appeared varied, there was plenty of room, and none of the people standing in groups by the bar were having loud, obnoxious conversations that made Magnus want to smack them. 

“Magnus! Clary!” Simon waved frantically at them from a table by the window, where he sat with Raphael, Jace, Isabelle, and Meliorn. 

“Hey,” Isabelle said when they made their way over. She gave Clary a once-over. “You look hot.”

Simon sighed. “Iz, in public?”

Isabelle shrugged, shot Clary a smile, and pulled out the chair beside her in clear invitation. Magnus sat between Meliorn and Simon, and tried to reign in the urge to ask whether Alec would be there. He was very clearly not there. His car hadn’t been in the driveway when Magnus and Clary had left, either, which meant that he was probably still at work. 

“Drinks!” 

Maia, whom Magnus had only met the once when they’d brought Callie to the vets, appeared with a tray, and began distributing beers and ciders and a Diet Coke for Simon, who, Magnus had discovered, didn’t drink.

“Sorry,” Maia said to Magnus and Clary. “We didn’t know what to order you. I can go back.”

“Don’t worry,” Magnus said, half-rising out of his seat, but Meliorn’s hand on his arm stopped him. 

“She just wants an excuse to talk to Lydia,” Simon told him. “The blonde one working behind the bar. With the ponytail.”

“I do not!” Maia glared at him. 

“They have a love-hate relationship,” Jace supplied. 

“My only relationship with you is hate,” Maia snapped. “What do you want to drink, city people?”

Once Maia had gone, Isabelle leant across the table and lowered her voice. 

“Lydia is a Branwell. They own a lot of the land around here, and, historically, they haven’t been very nice about it. Especially when Stickwick first became... _Stickwick_. Rainbows and all.” She flashed them all a grin. Magnus had no idea what she was talking about. “But Lydia’s better. She’s as gay as my brothers, for starters, and she’s found herself a normal job rather than getting into the family business. But Maia doesn’t want to compromise her principles by dating a Branwell.”

“To be fair,” Simon said, “people would talk.”

“It’s a small town,” Raphael said dryly. “You people will talk about anything and act like the most boring topics in the world are deeply fascinating. I will never understand.”

“No,” Simon said fondly. “I know.”

After a few minutes, Maia returned with their drinks, still doing her best to shoot Jace daggers at every spare moment. 

“So, Magnus.” Maia took a sip of her drink, pointedly ignoring the puppy-eyes Jace was giving her in an attempt to regain her goodwill. Or, perhaps, just to annoy her further. It seemed like the sort of behaviour Jace would indulge in. “I hear you’ve captured Alec’s attention.”

Magnus arched an eyebrow. “Where did you hear that?”

“From Alec.” Maia smirked. “The man can’t shut up about you. At first I thought he didn’t like you two, with all your city quirks, but then I realised what was actually going on.”

“I’m sorry, but as we have both participants here, I am much more interested in this.” Jace gestured between Isabelle and Clary. From the way Maia rolled her eyes and sat back in her chair, Magnus had a feeling that he’d changed the topic solely to wind her up. 

“A gentlewoman doesn’t kiss and tell, Jace,” Isabelle told him, with a wink. Beside her, Clary hid a smile behind her glass.

Jace looked a little sheepish as he said, “To be completely honest, Clary, I thought you were straight.”

A groan came from Meliorn, who was hiding his face in his hands and shaking his head. “I told you!”

“It’s not an insult!”

“Isn’t it, though?” Maia asked, grinning. “How would you like it if I accused you of being straight?”

“Do I look straight?”

Maia appraised him for a moment, and then shrugged. “You look more straight than Clary. By the way–” Maia leant forwards so she could look at Clary, who was sitting at the other end of the table “–I promise, nobody with functioning brain cells would think you look straight.”

Clary let out a little laugh, and shrugged delicately. “It’s okay. Really. It’s far from the first time.”

“Can confirm,” Isabelle said, “the lady is not straight.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Magnus said, diffusing the building tension before it ended up putting Clary in an uncomfortable position. 

As they all clinked glasses, Magnus caught Clary’s attention, and raised a questioning eyebrow. Smiling, she nodded back at him. It was the same exchange they’d had hundreds of times over the years. A subtle check-in. This time, however, it wasn’t missed by Isabelle’s sharp eyes. 

***

Clary knew she’d been quiet for the rest of the evening at the pub, since Jace had brought up his assumption that she was straight. It wasn’t his fault - it was an offhand comment, and, as he’d pointed out, it wasn’t an insult. 

He didn’t know how people had said it to her before. He hadn’t heard the accusation in their tones.

“Hey.” 

She heard Isabelle come up behind her as they walked out, bundled up in coats despite the fact that they were only walking to the car park, thirty seconds away from the pub door. An arm slipped through hers, and Clary felt something curled inside her loosen at the touch. 

“Hey,” Clary said, chancing a glance over at her. Isabelle was smoking, that soft, knowing smile that was saturated with kindness, and Clary wondered at how she’d found this woman.

“So.” Isabelle pressed their shoulders together, and linked both her hands together around Clary’s forearm. “You can tell me to butt out, if you like, and I won’t be offended, but I couldn’t help sensing that you seemed a little bothered by Jace’s entirely inaccurate comment, earlier.”

“I’m not upset with him. He didn’t mean anything by it.”

In fact, while it was clear to her that Magnus was not Jace’s biggest fan, she liked the guy. He was a bit of an idiot, yes, and he certainly wasn’t the most astute person when it came to the feelings of others, but beneath all the put-on stupidity, there seemed to be a wealth of care and concern. Meliorn loved him, anyway; there had to be _something_. Meliorn had good taste in everything.

“You can talk to me about it,” Isabelle told her. “If you’d like to. I might work with animals, but I have to be a very good listener. People love their pets as much as their kids. And farmers, well. They’ll tell me endlessly about how politicians just don’t get it.”

Clary laughed as they came to a stop in the car park. Meliorn and Raphael had swooped in on Magnus’ car, and were admiring it loudly, to Magnus’ obvious pleasure. He was practically preening. 

Ridiculous, Clary thought, watching her friend with affection welling in her chest. Judging by the identical looks of disbelieving confusion that Simon and Jace exchanged, they were of a similar opinion. 

“I’ll give you a ride home,” Isabelle said, pulling her car keys out of her handbag. “If you like?”

“Oh, you don’t have to. It’s very out of your way.”

“Clary.” Isabelle gave her a pointed look. “Stickwick is smaller than Katie Hopkins’ brain. It’ll take me five minutes extra.”

After letting Magnus know the plan, Clary clambered into Isabelle’s Suzuki and settled into the passenger seat. She turned the heat up at Isabelle’s request. 

“So,” Isabelle said, as they turned onto the road. “This is me listening. Including if you want to tell me to piss off.”

“I had a hard time coming out,” Clary confessed. “Not– Not the first time. The first time I came out was in sixth form, to my friends and then to my mum and step-dad, and that was terrifying, but they were all very accepting. And at university, I had good friends, and I met Magnus, and they were all–” She waved a hand vaguely. “We did that stereotypical thing where we ended up with a friendship group of entirely queer people.”

“A very valid life choice,” Isabelle told her. “As you can probably see, I have done the same.”

Clary smiled. “Yeah. But then I went to work, and it was...different. It was supposedly a very progressive company, but everyone there was straight and cis and mostly white middle-class. I’m not saying that it’s bad if you’re those things, but if your whole company is made up of only those people?” She pulled a face. “That’s weird.”

“I agree.”

“I didn’t feel like I was closeted then, you know? I was out and proud, and I had been since I was seventeen. University lulled me into this false sense of security, where I felt like I could casually drop the fact that I’m a lesbian into the conversation and nobody would bat an eyelid.”

Without taking her eyes off the road, Isabelle smiled sympathetically. “But it didn’t quite go like that?”

“No.” Clary sighed. “I got a lot of...comments. Not comments that were blatantly homophobic, not the sort of thing I could report to HR, but they were enough to make me uncomfortable. _You’re too pretty to be a lesbian! But you have such good style! Do you think she’s hot? What about her? Did you ever have a crush on me? Are you sure you’re gay?_ Especially if I ever dared comment on the appearance of a man.”

Isabelle lifted a hand from the steering wheel and reached across the console for Clary’s. She squeezed gently. “That’s really crap. I’m sorry.”

“I let it go. I should have stood up for myself more, but I didn’t. In isolation, they seemed like such minor comments. Together it was horrible. I found myself going back into the closet. I didn’t talk about it. Never mentioned my dating life, or my past partners. I even had a girlfriend for a year when I was working there, and I never brought her up. My colleagues didn’t know she existed.”

“Oh, Clary.”

“It’s okay.” Clary shot her a weak smile. “That’s one of the reasons I came out here. To get away from that.”

“Well,” Isabelle said, letting go of Clary’s hand as she turned into the road that led down to Rose Cottage, “I, for one, am very glad you did. You don’t deserve that. God, and London likes to boast about how progressive it is.”

“In some ways, it is,” Clary said. “In others... Well. There’s a certain brand of Islington Elites, you know?”

“Oh, I do.” Isabelle chuckled, pulling up beside Magnus and turning the engine off. “I used to be one.”

Clary’s head whipped around, and she stared at Isabelle with wide eyes and parted lips. “Seriously? You were— _Islington_? Really?”

That wasn’t to say that everyone from Islington was a champagne socialist who only bought organic food at over-priced supermarkets and voted Labour merely as a form of virtue-signalling, being too privileged to really care about who was in government, but, well. The stereotype existed for a reason. 

“We grew up in Islington,” Isabelle said, smiling wryly. “I loved it so much I went to university in Scotland.”

Clary snorted. “Of course. So, you, Alec and Max all ended up here by coincidence?”

“Ah. No.” A wistful look settled itself on Isabelle’s face, and a faraway look swam into her eyes. She picked at where her pale pink nail varnish had chipped off as she spoke. “We all decided to come here together. Alec and I were researching places, and online, Stickwick seemed... Well.” She flashed Clary a grin. “You know.”

Clary did not know, but she nodded anyway, not wanting to interrupt the flow of Isabelle’s story.

“And then he saw that there was an opening at the GP and one at a vet clinic in the next town over, and it seemed so perfect. We’ve been here for four years, now. And Max was living at uni, and then with me, until August. Then my baby brother got his own place. Thank god.”

“That’s kind of amazing. That you all found this place together.”

“It’s Stickwick.” Isabelle smiled. “I think it’s impossible not to fall in love with the place. People feel in their heart that they belong here.”

Clary watched Isabelle across the console in silence. Warmth shone in her eyes, and she was still smiling, and, god, when had a woman last looked at Clary like that? Had anyone ever looked at her like that?

“I should probably go,” Clary murmured. “Thank you for listening. And for telling me your story.”

“Of course.” Isabelle leant in to press a soft, slow kiss to her lips. She brushed her fingers tenderly through Clary’s hair as she pulled back; Clary felt her insides turn to mush. “Goodnight, Clary.”

“Goodnight, Isabelle.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alec wants to go hiking, Isabelle and Clary eat pizza, and some confessions are made.

When Magnus’ phone rang at eleven o’clock in the morning on a freezing Sunday, the sound of it made him startle. Nobody ever called him anymore, and certainly not without warning. It was a welcome relief from the incessant calls he’d been used to getting at work. 

The number wasn’t in his contacts list, so he debated ignoring it. He was still in bed, wrapped up warm beneath the duvet, and had just been contemplating whether getting himself a coffee was worth facing the cold. 

Against his better judgement, he hit accept, and held the phone to his ear.

“Magnus Bane.”

“Hi. It’s Alec.”

Magnus’ eyebrows rose. “How did you get my number.”

Alec laughed sheepishly. “Isabelle gave it to me.”

Of course she did, Magnus thought. He didn’t know whether Clary had told her or whether she was simply very perceptive, but she definitely knew that Magnus had a thing for Alec. Although, judging by Maia’s comments the other evening at the pub, Alec was faring too much better. 

“To what do I own the pleasure?”

“You can say no,” Alec said, “but I was going to go hiking with Isabelle this afternoon, only she’s bailed on me to romance Clary.”

Magnus smiled.

“So I was wondering whether you wanted to come?”

“Oh.” Magnus couldn’t help the surprise in his tone. After all, Alec had a brother and plenty of friends in Stickwick, and Magnus had only been in the village for a few weeks—surely they would all be higher on Alec’s list than Magnus?

“You don’t have to,” Alec repeated. “But if you want to, the weather looks good. I know it’s cold, but it really is beautiful.”

“Alright,” Magnus agreed. “I’ll come.”

***

“What do you think Magnus and Alec are up to now?” Clary asked, lounging on Isabelle’s sofa as they shared a frozen pizza for lunch. Perhaps it wasn’t the height of romance, but Clary didn’t really care. She didn’t need romance every time. Their first date had been plenty romantic enough, and Isabelle had kissed her for the first time in the snow. They were due a greasy-pizza-on-the-couch date. 

Isabelle hummed, picking off a piece of mushroom from her slice and transferring it to Clary’s. “Probably dancing around each other like they have been for the last two months.”

“The weird thing,” Clary mused, “is that I’ve never seen Magnus hesitate to ask someone out when he likes them.”

Although, perhaps recent history had something to do with that. His dating life had been as shambolic as everything else in his life had become, in the last year or two. 

But surely it was obvious that Alec wasn’t like that? Their weird half-flirtations hadn’t ended once Magnus had told Alec that he was trans. It clearly wasn’t a factor in Alec’s very obvious attraction for Magnus. 

“Maybe it’s because you guys are only supposed to be here for a few months,” Isabelle said. “You know, you’ll back to your city lives and forget about all of this.”

Clary raised her eyebrows. “And that doesn’t bother you?”

Isabelle shook her head. “We can cross that bridge if and when we come to it.”

“If?”

Isabelle shrugged one shoulder, the corners of her mouth tugging up into a half-smile. “Well, anything could happen between now and then, couldn’t it?”

***

When Alec mentioned hiking, Magnus had envisioned clambering up a steep hill for an hour or so, reaching the top of a hill, and spending a few minutes gazing out across the sight of the tiny features down below. 

He didn’t expect Alec to lead him along the fence that marked off a nearby farm, through the trees on the other side, and down. 

Down where, exactly, Magnus had no idea.

“Not that I doubt your countryside navigating prowess,” Magnus said, stepping over thick tree roots that seemed designed to trip him up, “but how can you possibly tell where we’re going? There’s no path.”

Alec shot him an amused glance. “Just trust me.”

“I do,” Magnus said, and, to his slight alarm, he found that he meant it. 

“There’s a river up ahead,” Alec said, gesturing with a gloved hand. “How’s your balance?”

“Pretty good,” Magnus said. “I used to dance. Does this mean there’s no nice wooden bridge that we can walk across?”

Alec snorted. “No. A tree got uprooted in a storm, and it’s fallen across the river pretty perfectly. Don’t worry—it’s a huge tree.”

It was a huge tree, Magnus acknowledged, as they approached the river, but it was overlaying what seemed like an enormous river. It wasn’t particularly wide, but it looked at least two metres deep, and the water was rushing through at an alarming pace, until it crashed against a collection of boulders further downstream. 

Alec went first, clambering up onto the slippery trunk of the tree without preamble. He turned to Magnus and held out a hand. Reluctantly, Magnus took it, and gripped on tighter than was necessary as he stepped up to join Alec. 

“Okay?” Alec asked, raising his voice to be heard above the roar of the river. 

“Fabulous,” Magnus told him dryly. “Let’s cross this thing before I have time to freak out about what might happen if I fall off.”

Alec’s lips twitched at the corners, but he didn’t say anything. It was altogether too tempting. Magnus had to look away.

They made it across the river without incident, and Magnus almost regretted having to let go of Alec’s hand. Admittedly, the gloves they were both wearing made it less exciting than it might otherwise have been, but still.

“It’s not much further,” Alec told him, and grinned over his shoulder. “Then we have the really fun walk back, uphill.”

“I don’t really mind that,” Magnus told him. “I spend quite a lot of time in the gym, back home. It started off as a way to keep up my fitness so I could dance better, when I was part of a dance team at uni, and then it was a vanity thing, and then it was a fuck-you thing.”

Alec’s eyebrows hitched up. “A fuck who thing? 

“People - mostly men I made the mistake of dating - who seemed to think that no trans guy could ever lift anything like what cis men can. Obviously, I decided I needed to prove them all wrong.” He shrugged. “So I did.”

“Good for you. Although, in my experience, the cis men who post obnoxious gym selfies and boast about how much they can bench press are seriously overstating their appeal.”

“They have the most tragic personalities,” Magnus agreed.

Alec shot him a curious look, and said, “Do you only date men?”

“No, I’m bisexual.” He smiled wryly. “So obviously that means I want to fuck anything with a pulse.”

A startled laugh broke out of Alec at that. Chuckling, he shook his head, smiling at Magnus with bright eyes that crinkled at the corners. Magnus had to reign in the urge to kiss those lines. 

His attention shifted a moment later as they came to a break in the trees. Several feet below them, a river ran through the clearing. It was wide, this time, at least five metres across, and slow-running. The water was so clear that Magnus could see tiny fish swimming against the current.

To their left, the river stretched out as far as they could see. The sun hung over it, soft butterscotch light reflecting in the water and making it sparkle like it was encrusted with diamonds. Magnus imagined that, in the summer, with lush green leaves on the trees and flowers blooming on the riverbank, it would look like something out of a fairytale.

“It’s beautiful,” Magnus whispered, a little awed at the sight of nature so entirely untouched by humanity.

“It is,” Alec agreed.

Magnus turned on his heel to smile at Alec, wide and unreserved. “Thank you for asking me to come.”

“I, uh.” Alec scratched at the back of his neck and let out a short laugh. “I have a confession to make.”

“Oh?”

“Isabelle didn’t actually bail on me. I knew she was seeing Clary today.”

Magnus’ brow furrowed. “Then why did you tell me...?”

“I didn’t want it to sound like I was asking you out on a date,” Alec admitted, and—

Oh. Well, if that was how he felt, at least Magnus knew, now. But if he wasn’t interested in Magnus, why did he keep flirting? Why had he called him beautiful and had that conversation about medical records and giving him heart eyes while they were tossing snowballs at each other?

“Not like that,” Alec said, shaking his head. “I like you, Magnus. I haven’t made any effort to hide it. But I didn’t want to pressure you. It’s pretty obvious that you came to Stickwick to escape, and I don’t know if you’re looking for anything. I don’t even know if you’re single.”

“I am. Single, that is.”

“And are you looking for anything?”

“I wasn’t,” Magnus admitted. “When I first came here, I was so sure that I didn’t want to get involved with anyone. Dating always seems to get messy, for me. But then I met you.”

Alec, with his _Doctor Lightwood_ and his warm hazel eyes and his gorgeous smile and his gentle teasing and infinite kindness. Magnus hadn’t stood a chance. He was a sucker for a pretty face, and Alec was so much more than just that. 

Alec stepped towards him, slowly. He dropped his gloves on the floor and reached up to touch his fingertips gently to Magnus’ jaw. Magnus’ eyelashes fluttered at the tenderness of the gesture; he looked up the few inches between them, searching Alec’s expression. 

“So if I had asked you out on a date this morning.” Alec’s voice sounded rough. “Would you have said yes?”

“Yes,” Magnus admitted. “But, Alexander, I don’t want there to be any misunderstanding. I don’t know what I can offer you. I don’t know what I can be for you. My life–” he let out a self-deprecating laugh “–my life is an absolute fucking mess. I’m thirty-one and I have no idea what I’m doing. I thought I had everything worked out, and I’ve realised that I don’t. I don’t have anything worked out. So I—”

“Magnus.” Alec shook his head, a small, soft smile on his lips and turning the brown of his eyes to liquid. “It’s okay. Right now, I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give me. We can work out the rest later.”

Magnus exhaled slowly, and let his eyes dip down to Alec’s lips. “So,” he murmured, “does that mean we can break the weeks of sexual tension, now?”

Alec’s smile broadened. “I thought you’d never ask.”

When this - kissing, kissing men, kissing women, kissing anybody he felt mutual attraction for - had been fairly new to him, first kisses had always been exciting. They’d made him nervous and dizzy and ecstatic, and his body had flooded with lust, and it had almost been a competition to see who could get whose clothes off fastest.

Kissing Alec was nothing like that. 

Alec’s kiss was soft, and slow, and so tantalising that it made Magnus’ toes curl. He found himself with his arms around Alec’s neck, pressing closer and leaning into the touch of Alec’s fingers on his face. Alec let his palm lay across the length of Magnus’ cheek, thumb nudging beneath his jaw to tilt his face up slightly to kiss him deeper.

When they eventually broke apart, they remained close. The cold tip of Alec’s nose nudged against his cheek, and Magnus let his parted lips brush against Alec’s jaw, and they remained wrapped in each other’s arms, the river trickling by and the harsh sounds of their breaths the only things to be heard in the forest. 

Magnus let himself move back further so he could look Alec in the eye. Alec’s face broke into a smile, and Magnus mirrored the expression without thought.

“We should–” Alec cleared his throat when it came out sounding raspy “–we should head back, soon. We’ll get cold standing around out here.”

Magnus arched an eyebrow, and rubbed a thumb against the taut muscle in Alec’s neck. “I’m not feeling particularly cold right now, are you?”

Alec’s lips curled into a lopsided smirk. “No,” he agreed. “No, I’m not.”

“Well, then.” Magnus’ gaze dipped down to Alec’s mouth and then back up. “I think we could stand to spend another few minutes here, don’t you? It’s very beautiful, after all.”

“Yeah,” Alec agreed, eyes roaming across Magnus’ face. “Yeah, it really is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this one was, lo and behold, first kiss! But it seemed to spoilery to put at the top.
> 
> You can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/notcrypticlu?lang=en) and [Tumblr](http://notcrypticbutcoy.tumblr.com)
> 
> Much love, Lu <3


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Magnus wants a job, the elderly residents of Stickwick have no shame, and he discovers why he should have read the guidebooks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: rainbows

“He kissed me.”

At the kitchen table in Rose Cottage, drinking coffee and eating pastries for breakfast, Clary and Isabelle looked up at Magnus as he walked in, dressed in loose sweatpants and no t-shirt, hair sticking up in all directions where he hadn’t washed or brushed out yesterday’s hair gel.

“Oh.” Magnus’ eyes flickered to Isabelle. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were here.”

Isabelle waved his concern off. “Doesn’t bother me. Are you talking about Alec?”

“Yes.”

She smiled. “Good. It was about damn time he made a move.”

“Agreed,” Clary said, nodding. “Was it romantic?”

“Yes, but it was also really bloody cold.”

Clary smiled into the next sip of her coffee. 

“Are you going to see him again?” Clary asked.

Sighing with far too much drama, Magnus collapsed into a chair beside Isabelle and opposite Clary at the table and waved a hand in what seemed like frustration. 

“I don’t know.”

Isabelle arched an eyebrow. “You don’t know?”

“I want to,” Magnus said, “but I don’t know if he does.”

Isabelle snorted loudly. “I assure you, he does.” She swirled the last bit of her coffee around in her mug, frowned, and said, “Did he really not say anything to you? He just kissed you and left?”

“No, no. Not at all. But you know he does that intense, meaningful communication with just his eyes?”

Isabelle and Clary stared blankly at him, and said in synch, “No.”

Magnus smiled wryly. “I suppose it’s good that you don’t. Well, he does. And sometimes I think I know exactly what it means, but sometimes I have no idea.”

“My brother is very straight-forward,” Isabelle said, shaking her head. “I promise, you’re overthinking it. Which is probably exactly what he’s doing right now, too.”

“I’ll call him later.” Decisiveness settled across Magnus’ face. He tapped his fingers against the tabletop, and made to stand. “First, I’m going to put on a shirt.”

“What happened to, _I worked hard for this and everyone is going to appreciate it_?” Clary asked teasingly, unable to help pressing Magnus’ buttons a little. That was what friends were for, right? Winding each other up?

Magnus smirked. “Well, I did. But that was a long time ago. The novelty has worn off somewhat.”

Clary could see Isabelle glancing between them, bemused, but she wasn’t going to fill her in unless Magnus made the first move. He was wandering around in front of Isabelle with the faint white scars on his pecs on full display, but they weren’t particularly noticeable anymore, and there was no knowing whether Isabelle would be able to tell what they were. Some people were entirely ignorant to that sort of thing.

Magnus clearly caught sight of Isabelle’s mystified expression. He switched his gaze to look at her, and explained: 

“My top surgery. I had to wait a long time to get it, and I was exceedingly pleased once I did.” He chuckled. “I had a ritual burning of my binders. Clary was there.”

Clary grinned. “That was a fun night.”

To her credit, Isabelle barely blinked at the new information she’d been given. Not that it should have been a big deal, of course, but it usually was. Clary hadn’t understood why Magnus tried his best not to let people know, at first, but then she’d seen for herself how people’s curiosity could so quickly cross boundaries at the most inappropriate times.

“Might as well flaunt it,” Isabelle said, shooting Magnus a smirk. “Although, to clarify, while I appreciate the aesthetic, the only body I really want to appreciate is—”

“And that is your queue to leave,” Clary interrupted, putting a hand over Isabelle’s mouth and glaring at Magnus. “Now, please.”

Isabelle’s shoulders were shaking and Magnus was grinning, and Clary regretted everything. They got on far too well, and they had a horrifyingly similar sense of humour. She had no chance against both of them.

At least Isabelle mollified her with kisses, she thought, absently, as Isabelle leant in to press their lips together. 

***

“I need a job.”

Simon blinked from behind the counter. “Well, good afternoon to you too, Magnus.”

Magnus strode up to the counter and set his palms on top. “No, Simon,” he begged. “Please, tell me where I can get a job in this place.”

“I thought you came to Stickwick to relax?” Simon asked. “Getting a job doesn’t seem very conducive to relaxation. Are you having work withdrawal? Raphael gets that even when he just has a week off. I had to confiscate his phone, once. I think that was the closest we ever came to divorce.”

“No, I do not have work withdrawal,” Magnus said impatiently. “I haven’t been to work for more than two months. And in the weeks I’ve been here, all I’ve done it relax, and hole myself up in the cottage trying and failing to write something that isn’t shit, and I need a job. I’m dying here. Help me, Simon.”

Simon’s entire face screwed up in thought and he tapped at his chin. With every passing second, Magnus felt his hope begin to dwindle. Surely there was something in the village that he could do? He had enough savings. It didn’t need to be a lucrative venture. 

“There’s always the old people’s home,” Simon mused. “They’re always looking for volunteers, if you’re prepared to do work for free.”

Magnus pulled a face. “Old people don’t tend to love me.”

“Really?” Simon sounded genuinely surprised. “I would have thought you’d be a hit.”

“Take a look at how I dress. According to the rules of eighteen-twenty, or whenever old people were born, this is not how a man should dress.”

Never mind the concept of a man like Magnus. Not that that tended to come up in conversation in his interactions with the elderly, of course. Although, when he’d finally persuaded his mother to let him cut his hair, his grandmother had been horrified. In a rather morbid, awful way, it was probably better that she’d never lived to see him grow up.

Simon shot him a slightly odd look. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem here.”

So an hour later, against his better judgement, Magnus found himself walking into Stickwick’s old people’s home, offering his time to volunteer. The woman seemingly in charge of the place introduced herself as Charlotte Branwell, and seemed delighted that Magnus was there. 

Magnus felt far more uncomfortable going into a room full of people over the age of seventy-five than he ever had in front of a judge.

Charlotte introduced him to the room, which was populated by significantly more women than men. A group of women in the corner seemed to light up; Magnus felt himself cringe. He hated the way some people seemed to think that being over a certain age gave them free reign to make sexual comments without consequence. 

But, to his surprise, one of the women in the corner grinned at him, and said, “Oh, he’s one of us.”

Charlotte smiled indulgently. “I don’t know, Alice. You’ll have to ask Magnus. I’m sure he won’t mind.”

“Oh, I don’t need to ask,” Alice said. “Come over here, sugar. The men are boring. Although I expect they’ll find you interesting. It’s been a while since we had a new volunteer.”

Magnus had no idea what any of that meant, but, after an encouraging nod from Charlotte, he headed over to Alice, and pulled up a chair. 

“This is Betty,” Alice said, gesturing to the woman sitting next to her, who was watching Magnus with a quiet sort of curiosity. “And the couple unsubtly staring at you in the corner are Harry and Eddie. He’s not as blind as you are, fellas! He can see you gawking! Especially you, Harry. You always were a terrible slut.”

Magnus choked on a laugh. Harry, from the other side of the room, gave Alice the sort of glare that had the heat of years of familiarity behind it. 

Alice shook her head. “Terrible,” she repeated.

“Alice, dear,” Betty said, laying a hand on Alice’s forearm, “perhaps you should let the poor chap speak? He can hardly get a word in.”

“It’s okay,” Magnus said quickly, smiling. He found himself rather liking these people, with their apparently healthy sense of humour. And nobody had made a derogatory comment about his eyeliner, yet.

Betty shook her head fondly. “She gets excited. It’s not often that we see new people.”

“Being old is so bloody boring,” Alice told him. “Don’t ever get old. Die an exciting death before you get old.”

“Do not do that,” Betty said. 

“What is the point of life without sex?” Alice demanded, brazenly. “Really. It’s boring, being old. Unimaginably boring.”

“Well, what do you miss?” Magnus asked, privately thinking that he could do with a project. He was sure he could come up with a way to bring these women a slice of their youth.

“Where to start.” Alice looked over at Betty. “We used to protest. That’s how we met, actually. It’s infuriating seeing injustices on the news these days and not being able to go out there and join all the people screaming bloody murder at the government. Fuck the government,” she added pointedly. “Especially this one.”

“Amen to that!” Harry shouted from the other side of the room. 

“It was a Tory government that let us get married,” Betty pointed out, nudging Alice with her elbow, and—

 _Oh_. Oh, suddenly it made so much more sense. 

“Psh.” Alice snorted. “Bunch of old twats on the back-benches making noise about their precious heterosexual rights, though, weren’t there?”

“You’re married?” Magnus interrupted, looking between them.

“At long darn last. Only took the best part of sixty years.”

Magnus glanced over at Harry and Eddie, who suddenly seemed much more interested in the conversation being had across the room, and felt something warm settle in his chest. It wasn’t just Betty and Alice, he realised, from the looks on the faces of practically every other person in the room. It was all of them. 

How much could he learn from this group of people? How many incredible stories did they have to tell? How much had they seen and lived through? This volunteer position wasn’t just something to do with his time—this was a gift.

Turning his attention back to Alice, Magnus said, “Why don’t you tell me more about those protests you used to go to?”

And, with a wicked grin, Alice began to speak.

***

Magnus felt high when he left. He’d never met a queer person of that age, let alone a whole room full of them. There was something decidedly magical about it, speaking to people who’d spent a significant portion of their lives choosing between loving who they wanted to and obeying the laws that forbid them from doing so.

He was so distracted thinking of the way Betty had been looking at Alice while she’d told stories of their younger days that he didn’t notice the person walking down the corridor from the other direction until they’d crashed into each other.

“Sorry!” Magnus said, reaching out reflexively to steady his unwilling victim. “Alexander?”

“Magnus.” Surprise stoke across Alec’s face. “What are you doing here?”

“Being regaled with stories about the nineteen fifties,” Magnus told him. “I was bemoaning my boredom to Simon. He told me this place is always looking for volunteers. What are you doing here?”

“I’m working. We come out here a few times a week to check on some of the residents. Most of them have got long-term conditions, and a fair few have got dementia. We don’t exactly want to stick them in here and just forget about them.”

“Of course not,” Magnus agreed.

Alec held the front door open for him, and Magnus shot him a smile. It was difficult to look at Alec without thinking of the way Alec had kissed him only yesterday. He wanted Alec to kiss him like that again.

But rather than act on that, Magnus decided to ask a question that had been niggling at the back of his mind for a while, now. 

There was something about Stickwick that differentiated it from any other countryside village Magnus had ever had the misfortune of visiting. It hadn’t been obvious, at first, but the evidence was stacking up more and more rapidly. That, and people kept making strange comments that didn’t seem to make sense—unless, of course, Magnus was missing a vital piece of context. And he was beginning to suspect that he was.

Alec’s car was parked at the edge of the road a few metres away. Magnus didn’t want to detain him for too long, but he needed to know. The curiosity was killing him. 

“I obviously don’t mean this in a rude way,” Magnus began, glancing over at Alec as they fell into step beside each other, “but is everybody in this town gay?”

For a moment, Alec simply stared at him, and Magnus began to lose conviction. Maybe his evidence was too anecdotal. He only knew a couple of dozen people in the town, after all, and queer people did tend to be good at finding other queer people. The people he knew was hardly going to be a representative sample.

But _still_. To his knowledge, he hadn’t met a single straight person since he’d set foot in Stickwick, and that was practically a statistical impossibility. Even when he’d gone to LGBTQ socials at university, the queer population hadn’t been that high a percentage, with all the allies who attended. 

“Turn around.”

Magnus frowned. “I’m sorry?”

“Turn around,” Alec repeated. “Look at the home.”

Magnus did as he was told, feeling a little stupid. His eyes flickered over the building they’d just vacated, lingering on the many flyers in the windows, the mural the children at the school had done on the front-facing wall, and the bold _Stickwick Seniors’ Retreat_.

“What am I supposed to be seeing, here?” Magnus asked.

Alec let out a huff of a laugh. “Magnus, what is on every single one of those posters in the window?”

Magnus squinted. “Oh. Rainbows.”

“Yes, rainbows.”

Magnus spun back around to face Alec, eyebrows raised. “So that’s a home specifically for LGBT residents?”

That was nice, Magnus thought. He couldn’t imagine anything worse than having to retreat into the closet in your old age—especially for people like Alice and Betty, who were married. It would be awful.

“No, but—” Alec shook his head, and let out another bewildered laugh. “Are you messing with me?”

“No!”

“Did you even google Stickwick before you moved here?”

Magnus’ brow furrowed. “Of course we did. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Oh my god.” Alec covered his eyes with his hand, and sighed in obvious despair. “It’s even on the sign when you drive in!”

“ _What_ is?”

The only thing Magnus remembered seeing was a sign saying Welcome to Stickwick. Although, in all honesty, he’d been more preoccupied by the fact that the roads were so narrow they didn’t fit modern cars, and the distinct lack of people. Oh, and the SatNav informing them that they needed to make a U-turn where possible, despite the fact that they very obviously did not.

“Welcome to Stickwick,” Alec said. “England’s rainbow village.”

Magnus opened his mouth, closed it, and then said, “I’m sorry?”

“You really didn’t google it.” Alec chuckled. “Oh, this is golden.”

“England’s rainbow village? What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that not everyone here is gay, but most people are. It means that our schools teach inclusive education. It means that our GP surgery only hires doctors who have experience in treating queer patients, or who are willing to learn. It means that people can live here authentically without having to worry about facing discrimination for who they love.” He nodded pointedly at Magnus. “Or for openly declaring who they really are.”

“England’s rainbow village,” Magnus murmured, awed.

And all the pieces of the puzzle fell into place.

“Did you really not know?” Alec asked, amusement saturating every line of his face.

“No.” Magnus shook his head. “What a stunning bit of irony.”

“Ridiculous,” Alec said. He took a half step closer, and reached out to curl his hand around Magnus’ shoulder. “You can go home and tell Clary that the pair of you inadvertently managed to move to Britain’s gayest town.”

Magnus laughed. “Oh, she’ll love that.”

“Mm. I have to go, but if I get home at a sensible time, how about I cook you dinner, tonight?”

“Yeah.” Magnus smiled at him. “Yeah, that sounds lovely.”

“I’ll see you later, then.”

Alec pressed a soft kiss to the arch of his cheekbone. His lips lingered for a moment, warming Magnus’ skin, and Magnus felt the flutter of eyelashes against his temple and slow breaths hitting his cheek. 

“See you later,” Magnus repeated, voice coming out mostly steady, when Alec pulled back and flashed him a smile.

“Didn’t even google it.” Alec scoffed. “I can’t believe I fancy you.”

Magnus grinned. “You have excellent taste.”

“Mm.” Alec’s gaze flicked down and dragged back up the length of his body so slowly it made Magnus feel a little hot around the collar. “That I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know whether anybody noticed the clues that something a little bit unusual was going on, but there you go! When I said everybody is gay, I meant it 😅
> 
> Much love <3


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Raphael covers for Simon, Magnus and Clary throw a games night, and Magnus tells Alec about a slice of his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: first love

When Magnus walked into Simon’s café on a Friday morning, before his first shift at Stickwick Seniors’ Retreat, he was surprised to find Raphael standing behind the counter. He was dressed in a suit, as per usual, sans tie and with his top button undone and his sleeves rolled up, and he was typing furiously on his phone, and frown creasing his brow. Simon was nowhere to be seen.

“Morning,” Magnus said cheerfully, and immediately detested himself. By the end of his six months in the godforsaken village, he’d probably become the sort of person who stopped to ask the cashiers at the supermarket about their children. 

Raphael fixed him with a dubious look. “What do you want?”

“Cappuccino to go, please.”

Raphael set his phone down and sighed. “Coming up.”

Magnus leant against them counter and watched Raphael pluck a cardboard cup from the stack and expertly work his way around the machines. He’d clearly done this before. Somehow, Magnus found it difficult to imagine Raphael working in a coffee shop, smiling at infuriating customers and accepting all the bullshit they spouted. 

“Is Simon not in today?” Magnus asked, unable to help his curiosity. The café was always closed on a Sunday, but other than that, he’d never seen Simon missing from his spot behind the counter. 

“No, he’s just running an errand, and he conned me into covering for him for an hour. Which means my boss is hounding me about where I am, and I’m in for a world of shit when I get in. Which will take even longer than normal, because now I’ll get caught in rush hour traffic.”

Raphael slid Magnus’ coffee across the counter and rang up the purchase on the cash register. Magnus tapped his credit card on the reader and fixed his gaze on Raphael.

“Why do it, then?”

“What?”

“Why run the café this morning? I’m sure you could survive an hour shut.”

A hint of a smile flitted across Raphael’s lips. “Because Simon never asks me for anything. And I’m weak.”

Magnus snorted into his coffee as he pulled off the lid to slurp at the frothy top. “I bet.”

“No.” Raphael rolled his eyes. “I can assure you, whatever you’re thinking, that’s not it.”

“Oh?”

“I’m asexual, so sexual favours don’t exactly do it to me.”

Magnus felt his expression soften. He felt like a bit of an arse for assuming. He didn’t know Raphael that well, in the grand scheme of things.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have assumed.”

Raphael shook his head. “That’s alright. Enjoy your coffee.”

Magnus smiled and lifted his cup in acknowledgement, turned to leave, and then paused. He liked Raphael, and he liked Simon, and, to his knowledge, so did Clary. They were friends, weren’t they?

“Hey, Raphael?”

“Mm?”

“How do you feel about games nights?”

***

Clary was, by nature, a competitive person. It had got her into trouble as a child, especially when boys had been involved, because, obviously, they couldn’t bear for a girl to beat them at anything - especially not football. So, of course, Clary had demanded that her stepfather teach her everything he knew so that she could beat them all in the playground.

Apparently, the Lightwood siblings were worse.

Magnus, quietly competitive in his own right, was staring at Alec and Isabelle like he hardly recognised them as they argued passionately over a game of Monopoly. Simon and Raphael were watching on with amusement, clearly having bared witness to this sort of behaviour before.

“I’m winning,” Alec said dismissively, plucking the dice from Isabelle’s hand and tossing it into the air. “I’m going to crush you like a tiny little bug.”

Isabelle scowled.

In the end, Alec bankrupted everyone else except Magnus, who’d been staying quiet during the game, collecting hotels right under their noses. It was almost poetic when Alec landed on Mayfair, accompanied by two red hotels, and his eyes went wide with betrayal as he handed over all of his money to Magnus, selling off most of his properties in order to do so.

“Thank you very much,” Magnus said brightly, leaning over the board to kiss Alec’s cheek. 

“What are we playing next?” Isabelle demanded. “I need to beat you both.”

They ended up playing a card game Simon dug out of a cupboard in Rose Cottage’s living room that neither Magnus nor Clary had opened in the weeks they’d been living there.

“The landlady leaves things around for tourists,” Isabelle said. “Lots of them bring their kids here and don’t realise that they’ll be bored to tears within a few days.”

After Simon had clarified that he would not be drinking alcohol, even for a drinking game, they settled in a circle and Isabelle shuffled the cards, shooting Alec suspicious looks all the while. Clary had no idea how anybody could manage to cheat at a game like this, but, apparently, Isabelle had her suspicions. 

“I’ll go first,” Simon said, eyeing Alec and Isabelle with the corners of his lips quirked up. He picked up the card from the top of the deck and read out, “ _First time you were drunk_. I was eighteen and it was freshers week. I said I’d never drink again and, unlike the rest of the world, I meant it.” He tossed the card down and looked expectantly around the circle. “Really? Nobody else got drunk for the first time at freshers?”

“I did,” Clary admitted grudgingly, picking up her cider can. “Cheers, Simon.”

“ _First time lying to your parents_ ,” Raphael read out, and smirked. “I think I left the womb telling mostly harmless untruths. My gran did not need to know that my girlfriend was really my boyfriend.”

“Aw.” Simon grinned. “I love your gran.”

“I know you do,” Raphael said, and let out a long-suffering sigh. “She loves you too. God only knows why.”

“A Catholic and a Jew walk into a bar,” Simon said. “Sounds like the start of a bad joke.”

“Clary,” Raphael begged her, “please pick up a card before he makes me regret our entire relationship.”

Clary did as Raphael had asked. She didn’t understand their relationship at all, but it clearly worked for them. In a rare display of blatant public affection, Simon looped an arm around Raphael’s shoulders and pressed a soft, brief kiss to the arch of his cheek. Raphael touched his temple to Simon’s forehead in response.

“ _First date_.” Clary pondered it for a moment, then shrugged. “I have no idea.”

“Ditto.”

Isabelle, Magnus, and Alec all raised their glasses and drank.

“This doesn’t seem like a very child-friendly game,” Simon mused.

“ _First time sex was really bad_.” Isabelle pulled a face and nodded at Simon in agreement. “That would be the only time I made the mistake of sleeping with a straight girl. Although my first time was with a guy, and that was pretty grim, too.”

Only Isabelle drank, to nobody’s surprise, and then it was Alec’s turn. He looked a little apprehensive, Clary couldn’t help but think. 

“ _First time in detention_.” Alec’s face did something complicated, and settled on a slightly grim expression. “I was only ever in detention once, and it was for getting into a fight with a guy picking on this kid in the year below who was gay. I was still closeted, at the time. Also, incidentally, my first time grounded.”

Clary’s eyebrows shot up when Raphael raised his glass. He didn’t say anything, but he and Alec clinked glasses and drank together. 

“ _First love,_ ” Magnus said, and stiffened visibly. He glanced around the circle. “Remind me of the rule for a pass?”

“Down in one,” Isabelle said. “Magnus, you don’t have to. We’re not students trying to get pissed.”

Magnus nodded his acknowledgement, and, in the spirit of the game, simply took a sip of his drink, before Simon went to pick up a second card. 

***

Magnus was brooding. 

He hadn’t been intending to brood, but that stupid card about his first love had thrown him back in time to something he thought he was over. It had been years—surely he’d moved on, now?

Well, he had. Of course he had. But he still had the scars. And, sometimes, in his particularly vulnerable moments, the memories still hurt. 

Perhaps it was because he’d just quit his job and uprooted his entire life to move to a place that didn’t suit him at all. Perhaps it was just because he’d had a bit to drink. Perhaps it was because of whatever _thing_ he was doing with Alec. But he was feeling the memories particularly keenly.

“Hey.” 

A voice from the doorway of the kitchen broke through his musings. He turned away from where he was gazing out of the window into the inky darkness of the night outside, to see Alec standing there, holding several empty glasses and his own beer can. 

“Hey,” Magnus echoed. “Sorry, I’ll be back in a minute. I was just—”

“It’s okay,” Alec said, shaking his head. “Whatever it is, it’s okay.”

Magnus smiled gratefully. “It’s nothing.”

“Well.” Alec dropped his can in the recycling bin and crossed the kitchen to set the empty glasses on the work surface, before turning to look at Magnus with those impossibly intense eyes of his. “It’s clearly not nothing, but I’m not going to pry.” He tilted his head to the side. “Although you can talk to me, if you want to.”

“You want to hear about my first love?” Magnus asked, raising a doubtful eyebrow. 

Alec shrugged one shoulder. “I want to hear about you. Anything about you. I like you, Magnus. I hope you know that. I’m not just kissing you because you’re stunning and I want to get into your pants. Although you are and I do.”

Magnus let out a laugh. “Thank you. I think. I like you, too.”

“Well, then.” Alec smiled, and took a step towards Magnus putting them firmly in each other’s personal space. He slid a hand along Magnus’ forearm and tangled their fingers loosely together. “You can talk to me, or not. It’s up to you.”

“My first love was when I was at university,” Magnus said, fixing his gaze on where his fingers were twined through Alec’s. Their hands looked so different, Alec’s skin seeming even paler against Magnus’, Magnus’ nails painted a glossy maroon and Alec’s bare and clipped short. 

They were different, Magnus thought. They were very different. But perhaps that could be a good thing. 

“I was in my second year. I’d come into my own at university. I passed, people didn’t give me crap for dressing the way I wanted to, and I felt confident. I met a woman called Camille. She was very beautiful. For the first time in my life, my feelings for her were reciprocated.”

And, oh, how naïve twenty-year-old Magnus had been. He shouldn’t have been, after how difficult it had been to persuade his mother and his friends and, frankly, everybody in his life, that he was who he said he was. That he was Magnus, and he was a he, and no amount of time and reassurance that it was okay to like girls would change that.

Because that had been the angle some people took. That he didn’t need to _become a man_ to like women. It made him angry just thinking about it.

“It was great, at first. We were in love, and I loved being in love. Obviously, I told her that I was trans, and she claimed not to care. That only made me feel better. It made me feel validated.”

“Understandably,” Alec murmured, squeezing Magnus’ hand.

“Foolishly,” Magnus corrected him. “Stupidly. Because she did care. I don’t know if she knew she cared and just lied, or whether she really didn’t know that she cared, but she cared a lot. She was straight, and the first time we tried to have sex, she was very...tactless. We’d talked about it beforehand, obviously, but it was like she’d forgotten everything I’d said. It happened a few times. Then it started to bleed into non-sexual situations, too. Little comments. Comments in front of friends who didn’t know that I was trans. In front of random strangers, too.”

“That’s awful.”

Magnus smiled wryly. “I put up with it, like an idiot in love. It was a while before my mother made me realise that she was destroying my self-worth. We broke up eventually, but it took me a while to regain what she’d taken. I felt uncomfortable in my own skin for a long time.”

“I’m so sorry,” Alec told him. When Magnus glanced up, sadness was set into every line of his face. “I’m so sorry that you had to go through that. It’s a reprehensible way to behave.”

“It was a very long time ago,” Magnus said, with a wistful half-smile. “It doesn’t haunt me. But it’s not exactly a nice topic to talk about over a drinking game.”

“No,” Alec agreed. “I understand why you didn’t want to talk about that.”

“Thank you for listening.” 

Magnus began to extricate his hand from Alec’s, feeling the innate urge to flee after baring his heart like that. He found it hard to be vulnerable around people. Especially people he was dating. Giving them power felt dangerous when it had burned him in the past, even though, really, he was quite sure that Alec would never behave like Camille had.

He didn’t know how he knew, but he did. Alec wasn’t like that. He wouldn’t take advantage of someone.

“Hey.” Alec caught him gently by the bicep before he could get too far. “I’m sure you already know, but I’m going to say it anyway. You’re beautiful. Metaphorically and literally. And if people don’t see that, then that’s their loss. They’re not worth your time.” He paused. “Although they do deserve a punch in the face.”

Magnus laughed. “That would have upset Camille. She was very proud of her nose.”

“Maybe I should look her up,” Alec muttered, a glint that Magnus had never seen before in his eyes. 

“Now, now. I’m sure the GMC doesn’t approve of violence.”

Alec huffed. “The bloody GMC.”

“I’m sure they’re not all bad,” Magnus said, amused.

“No, of course not, what they do is very important, but—” Alec stopped, looking a bit sheepish. “Sorry. You don’t want to hear that rant.”

“Maybe not tonight,” Magnus agreed. “I’m a tiny bit drunk. But not too drunk for you to kiss me before we go back out there.”

Alec grinned. “Yeah?”

“Mmhm.”

Magnus smiled into Alec’s kiss, winding his arms around Alec’s neck and sinking his fingers into that thick black hair. The sensation of Alec’s hands pressing into his back and the muscles of his arms around Magnus’ waist was beginning to feel decidedly familiar, and rather comforting.

That was a dangerous thought. Coming to care for the residents of Stickwick was one thing. But coming to rely on them, to like them enough to miss them, to feel like they were part of his close-knit social circle, to find _comfort_ in them—that was quite another. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alec works the night shift, Magnus surprises him, and Isabelle and Clary define their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: graveyard shift

At eight o’clock in the morning, the GP surgery was silent. The only cars outside were Alec’s and a silver Ford Focus, and, when Magnus pushed the door open to walk into the waiting room, there was nobody to be seen. 

Cradling two cups of coffee, one decaf and one not, Magnus perched himself on a chair and wondered at the fact that, not three months ago, he’d been working night shifts regularly without complaint. Now, the thought of having to be up all night and attempt to sleep at nine o’clock in the morning made him wince. 

Whatever he did once he left Stickwick, he was never going back to that lifestyle. It would kill him. 

“Are you here for an appointment?”

Magnus looked up, and smiled in recognition. “Cat! No, I’m waiting for Alec.”

“Oh, I see.” A smile broke out across her face. “He’s just finishing up some paperwork. Be gentle with him. He had a tough shift.”

“Of course.”

Catarina bid him farewell, heading down the corridor to her office, and, minutes later, Alec appeared, looking tired and rugged but no less lovely than he always did. Magnus felt lighter just at the sight of him.

Bloody hell. He really was getting attached. 

“Hey,” Magnus said, rising from the chair and drawing Alec’s attention to him.

Alec’s eyebrows shot up. “Magnus! What are you doing here?”

“Surprising you,” Magnus said. “Isabelle was telling me how much you hate these shifts, so I thought a coffee might cheer you up.”

“Is it decaf?” Alec asked, peering at the cup in Magnus’ hand with adorable suspicion. “If I drink anything caffeinated I won’t sleep. And I really, really need some sleep.”

“It’s decaf,” Magnus confirmed. “Come on. I’ll drive you home.”

Alec blinked. “Did you walk here?”

Magnus smiled genially. “I did, yes.”

“You really didn’t have to do that, you know.”

“I haven’t seen you for a few days. Half an hour is better than nothing, right?”

“Right,” Alec echoed. “Shall we go, then?”

And, apparently without thinking twice, he reached out to snag Magnus’ hand and began to head for the door. Magnus had to battle a smile at the sensation of Alec’s fingers threaded so easily through his. He hadn’t been in a relationship - a normal, ordinary, simple relationship - for such a long time. Holding hands seemed like a novelty.

Was this really a relationship, Magnus wondered? It felt like a relationship. A casual, non-committal sort of relationship, but a relationship nonetheless. Alec knew not to expect long-term commitment from Magnus, and he seemed happy doing what they were doing. 

Holding hands included. 

“Keys,” Magnus said, going over to the driver’s side. Alec fished around in his jacket pocket and tossed them over. “Thank you.”

Magnus spent a few minutes adjusting the heating and the seat and finding a radio station that broadcasted in Stickwick and that was playing reasonable music. Beside him, Alec settled into the passenger seat; he closed his eyes and began to relax visibly. 

Once they were out on the main road that would take them home in a matter of minutes, Magnus decided to broach the topic of work. Catarina’s words kept ringing in his ears, and the tiredness rounding Alec’s shoulders and darkening the skin beneath his eyes wasn’t just caused by lack of sleep.

Magnus knew. He’d seen it in the mirror enough times.

“How was your shift?” Magnus asked, glancing in the rear view mirror in an attempt to appear casual. 

Alec let out a humourless laugh. “A bit shit, if I’m perfectly honest.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Death,” Alec said, scrubbing at his eyes with his knuckles. “So much death in one night. We end up being the first responders because it takes ambulances so long to get here, and people still seem to call us before they call an ambulance, even when it’s a real, serious emergency, because they know we’ll come quicker.”

“That must be very hard to watch.”

“It’s funny. Some of these shifts, we’ll only get one or two calls in the whole night. Others...it’s a nightmare. A real, waking nightmare.”

“I’m sorry,” Magnus said, removing one hand from the steering wheel and extending it over the gear stick, palm up. Alec’s hand found him, and Magnus squeezed, hoping to provide some small level of comfort. 

“It’s better than not being able to do anything,” Alec said, “but sometimes, it’s exhausting.”

“I bet. When do you next have to go into work?”

“I have tomorrow and Friday off, so not until the weekend.” He smiled wryly. “I’ve got time to put my head back on right.”

“I quite like your head just the way it is.”

“Flirt.”

Magnus pulled up in Alec’s driveway, switched off the engine, and passed him the keys back before making a careful exit. It had been raining, and Alec’s driveway seemed to be a death trap designed to make people slip over and break limbs. 

“Thank you for the lift and the coffee,” Alec said. “And for cheering me up.”

“You’re most welcome.”

“How about we go on a date, tomorrow? A proper date?”

Magnus smiled. “A date sounds lovely.”

“I’ll text you.”

“You do that. But go and get some sleep, first. You look dead on your feet.”

Alec rolled his eyes, lips quirking at the corners in that way they did when he was amused but pretending not to be. “Thank you so much for that stunning compliment.”

“My pleasure,” Magnus quipped. “Come here.”

He drew Alec in for a chaste, lingering kiss, pressing his own cold fingertips into the warmth of Alec’s skin. Alec hummed against his lips, tilting his head to kiss Magnus deeper, one hand digging lightly into Magnus’ hip.

With a great deal of effort, Magnus forced himself to pull away. 

“If you keep kissing me, I’m not going to let you go to bed. Not alone, anyway.”

“Sleep is overrated,” Alec said, with a teasing kiss to the skin just below Magnus’ earlobe. The touch seemed to thaw every icy cell in Magnus’ body. He shuddered.

“No, it isn’t,” Magnus forced himself to say, placing a hand on Alec’s chest to push him gently away. “It definitely isn’t. Go to sleep and kiss me later.”

Alec huffed. “Fine. You drive a hard bargain, Magnus Bane.”

“That I do,” Magnus agreed. “That I do.”

***

Callie loved Isabelle more than anyone else, Clary thought, half annoyed and half fond, as she came down the stairs in Rose Cottage to see her dog and girlfriend sprawled on the floor, Isabelle laughing and half-heartedly pushing Callie back while Callie licked at her face with eager affection.

“Having fun?” Clary asked, amused, leaning against the kitchen doorway.

Callie looked up and barked once, tail wagging frantically. She looked between Clary and Isabelle, as though she couldn’t quite decide which human would be more fun. Isabelle obviously had some sort of secret vet technique to make animals adore her. That was the only explanation for why Clary wasn’t Callie’s favourite human, despite feeding her every morning. 

(Magnus did it in the evenings, but he hardly ever got up early enough to satisfy Callie’s morning hunger. Or her morning restlessness. That job fell to Clary. Ergo, she should have been Callie’s favourite person in the world.)

“Get on the floor and join us, Fray,” Isabelle said, scratching beneath Callie’s chin, much to her obvious delight. 

Callie barked once again, as though voicing her approval of Isabelle’s plan.

Clary sighed. Between Callie’s wide brown eyes _and_ Isabelle’s, she stood no chance.

“The things I do for you,” she said to Callie, lowering herself to the cold kitchen floor to join in Isabelle’s petting. “I was having a nice warm cuddle with my girlfriend this morning, until you started being all needy. Despite the fact that Magnus fed you and took you for a walk at about seven o’clock. Do you know how rare it is for Magnus to get up that early? Do you?”

Callie obviously did not, but she looked delighted at all the attention she was receiving. Clary was so distracted by how cute her dog was that she didn’t notice the way Isabelle was staring at her until she cleared her throat pointedly.

“Girlfriend?” Isabelle asked, arching an eyebrow questioningly. 

“Oh.” 

Clary hesitated. She hadn’t even thought about saying it. She thought of Isabelle as her girlfriend, in her head, even though it had only been a few weeks since they’d kissed that day in the snow. It had been more than a month since their first date. That was more than enough time, wasn’t it? Girlfriend didn’t have to mean lifelong commitment.

“Is that’s wrong?” Clary asked. “Are you not?”

Isabelle smiled. “I am if you want me to be.”

“You know, I really think I do.”

Grinning, Isabelle pushed herself up on an elbow from her position on the floor, and began to lean in, eyes flickering down to Clary’s lips, and—

Callie barked. Twice. 

Isabelle sighed, pulling back and giving Callie a placating scratch on the top of her head. “You’re really cute,” she said sternly, “but if you keep interrupting me when I’m trying to spend quality time with my girlfriend, you and I are going to have issues. Okay?”

Clary couldn’t be annoyed. Not with the way Callie was sitting staring up at Isabelle with absolute adoration in her eyes, practically vibrating with excitement.

It was okay. She’d kissed Isabelle plenty last night. And she was quite sure that she’d kiss her plenty more before the day was out.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isabelle gets called out in the night, Magnus learns where Alec grew up, and they discuss London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: confessions

Apparently, vets, much like doctors, worked extremely irregular hours. 

Clary had stayed over at Isabelle’s for the night, following a date night of drinking wine and kissing on the sofa that had gone on for longer than either of them had intended. She’d been woken at half past two in the morning by the sound of Isabelle swearing. 

“Are you okay?” Clary had asked, rubbing her eyes blearily, still disorientated from being in a strange bed. Not that Isabelle’s bed was uncomfortable - much the opposite, in fact. It was like sleeping on a cloud. Darkness has enveloped her practically the moment her head hit the pillow. 

“Sorry!” Isabelle had whispered. “Wait, let me—”

A light flickered on, the lamp beside Isabelle’s side of the bed illuminating the room in its soft glow. Isabelle, Clary realised after a moment of two of blinking blindly, was half dressed in jeans and a bra, and had a t-shirt clutched in one hand.

“Are you going somewhere?” Clary asked, pushing herself up on one elbow.

“Call from work. One of the cows at the farm is having trouble in labour. I might not be back until morning. Well.” She smiled sheepishly. “Later in the morning.”

“Alright.” Clary tugged up the strap of her tank top. “Do you want me to go?”

“What? Go home? No, of course not, go back to sleep.” Isabelle shook her head. “I was trying not to wake you, but it’s been a while since I’ve needed to do that. I’m out of practise.”

Clary smiled, and reached a hand out from beneath the duvet. The room was fucking cold, but Isabelle’s skin was warm when her fingers slid between Clary’s.

“I’ll see you when you get back, then,” Clary told her, bringing their joined hands up to press a kiss to Isabelle’s knuckles. She had a scratch across the back from a frightened cat she’d been vaccinating in clinic the other day, and it still looked raw. Isabelle didn’t seem bothered by it, but Clary was.

Isabelle’s expression turned liquid-soft, and she reached out to brush Clary’s hair back from her face. She cupped Clary’s cheek in her palm and tilted her head up. 

“Go back to sleep, gorgeous,” Isabelle said, with a small, tender smile. “And I’ll see you when I come back muddy and cold and stinking.”

Clary wrinkled her nose. “I can’t wait.”

Laughing, Isabelle bent to press a kiss to Clary’s forehead, and pulled away to tug her t-shirt on and collect her things. Predictably, Clary fell asleep before she’d even heard the door shut to announce Isabelle’s departure.

When she woke again, the sunlight was just beginning to stream in through the gaps at the edges of the curtains. She yawned, stretching out in Isabelle’s bed, and rolled over to see that it had gone half-past eight.

Well, her move to Stickwick was meant to be relaxing.

She borrowed one of Isabelle’s luxurious silk dressing gowns and headed downstairs to make herself a coffee and some breakfast. It was just beginning to rain outside, she noticed, as she waited for Isabelle’s coffee machine to heat up. Isabelle’s car was gone from the driveway.

Just as Clary was stirring milk into her coffee and dropping two slices of bread into the toaster, she heard the telltale sound of tyres rolling through the increasingly wet ground. A few seconds later, there was the sound of a key grinding in a lock, and the front door opened.

“Hey!” Clary called, curling her hands around her coffee mug and taking a sip. “How’s the cow?”

“All good.” Isabelle shot her a tired smile as she toed off her wellies and hung up her soaking wet coat on the peg. “The rain followed me home. It’s been pouring at the farm for an hour.”

“You are impossible to resist,” Clary agreed, smiling. “Do you want breakfast? I’m making toast.”

“So romantic,” Isabelle teased, padding into the kitchen and heading over to the fridge. “I’m fine, thanks. I’m going to head back to bed for a couple of hours. Otherwise I’ll fall asleep mid-afternoon, and then my body clock will be fucked for the next week.”

“Of course. Thank you for letting me stay, by the way.”

“Don’t be silly. You can stay for longer, if you like. We’re closer to the school here than Rose Cottage is. It’ll only take you ten minutes to walk.”

“Isabelle Lightwood,” Clary said, grinning and stepping closer to her. “Are you bribing me?”

Isabelle smirked, circling one sweater-clad arm around Clary’s waist to tug her closer. “I don’t know. Is it working?”

“Maybe.”

Clary curled her hand gently around the back of Isabelle’s neck and drew her in for a slow, deep kiss. Her fingers tangled in Isabelle’s hair, gripping lightly at the locks as they pressed a little closer, the cold skin of Isabelle’s lips quickly warming.

Isabelle’s lips parted beneath hers and she nipped lightly at Clary’s lower lip. Clary let out a soft moan, tightening her fingers in Isabelle’s hair to tilt her head to one side so that she could kiss her thoroughly breathless. 

When they parted, Isabelle’s lips were tantalising kiss-swollen, and Clary could taste Isabelle’s chapstick on her own lips. Isabelle’s gaze flickered between Clary’s eyes and mouth, before she leant in to brush a soft, fleeting kiss to Clary’s mouth.

“Stay,” Isabelle whispered, running a thumb along the fragile skin beneath Clary’s eye.

Clary smiled. “I’ll stay.”

***

“You know Alec is from the city, originally?”

Magnus raised his eyebrows at Meliorn, sitting across from him in Simon’s café, both of them sipping cappuccinos. 

Magnus had been trying to write, having come back from a morning shift at Stickwick’s care home, but, much like everything he’d tried to write since moving to Stickwick, he’d despised every word, and had deleted the whole thing in a fit of rage. Simon had offered him a free chocolate chip cookie as an act of sympathy.

“No,” Magnus said to Meliorn, who, apparently, had got so annoyed with a customer at the bakery that he’d had to leave it in the capable hands of his coworkers for an hour while he cooled off. “No, I didn’t know that.”

“Oh, yeah.” Simon grinned from behind the counter. “You’ll love this. The Lightwoods are from Islington.”

Magnus choked. “ _Islington?_ ”

Meliorn spread his hands wide and shrugged. “I’ve never been to London, so I can’t properly participate in this conversation, but yes. Islington.”

“The stereotypes are true,” Magnus told Meliorn. “Are you two from Stickwick?”

“Nobody is really _from_ Stickwick,” Simon said. “I grew up not far from here, in a similarly tiny town, and I met Raphael when I was at university, and then I moved here. And then, eventually, I persuaded him to marry me, and he moved here, too. He’s hated me ever since.”

They all laughed at that, although, frankly, Magnus entirely understood Raphael’s distaste for small town life. Stickwick might have gone up in Magnus’ estimation since he’d discovered that it was a safe haven for the LGBT community, but it was still a small town. It still had farms and tiny twisty country roads and gossip spread like wildfire and everything Magnus could ever desire was not located somewhere he could get to in fifteen minutes.

But it did have a charm about it.

“What about you?” Magnus asked, nodding at Meliorn.

“I only moved here two years ago,” Meliorn said, rotating the thick silver ring on his middle finger as he spoke. “I was trying to find my way in life. I still am, truth be told. I like working at the bakery, but I don’t want to work there forever. I’m not sure what I’m doing yet, and I’m not sure I’ll stay in Stickwick forever, but...” He shrugged, and smiled. “I have to admit, I liked it far more than I ever expected to. Jace helped, of course.”

Magnus smiled, Alec’s face flashing through his mind, and he inclined his head.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I know exactly what you mean.”

***

Despite his many skills in life, Magnus had never quite mastered the art of cooking. His meals were fine, and edible, and his baking was superb, but his cookery skills were, to be frank, mediocre. Passable. Acceptable.

Which was why he felt so nervous when he and Alec sat down to a meal on Friday night, at Alec’s kitchen table, that Magnus had cooked. 

Curries were typically one of Magnus’ more successful meals, but he hadn’t exactly tried them out on many people. He’d used to consider it a good week if he only had a take-away twice. The quality of the food he cooked himself never really mattered.

“This is good,” Alec said appreciatively, to Magnus’ relief. “I thought you said your cooking was _average_?”

“It is,” Magnus said, lips twitching at the affronted look Alec gave him. 

“This is not average. This is delicious.”

“It’s my mother’s recipe,” Magnus admitted. “My step-dad used to love curries, so she made this a lot when I was growing up.”

Pausing, Alec tilted his head slightly to one side, appraising Magnus carefully. “You never really talk about your family. Or your life in London at all, really.”

Magnus smiled wryly down at his plate. “My mother died when I was nineteen. My step-father was driving drunk, and there was an accident.”

“Oh, Magnus.” Sorrow saturated Alec’s expression; he reached out across the table to lay his hand palm-up in offering. “I’m so sorry.”

Magnus took Alec’s hand and squeezed gently. “Thank you. It doesn’t hurt so much anymore, but obviously it did at the time.”

“Do you have other family?”

“I have a friend, Ragnor, who has become like my family. We were in sixth form together, and we ended up at the same university. He’s the one who suggested I come here, actually.”

“Ah.” Alec grinned teasingly. “I suppose Ragnor must have googled it, then.”

“Shut up,” Magnus said, pointing his fork at Alec and laughing. “Rudeness is not permitted, or I will not cook my mother’s delicious curry for you again.”

Alec sobered. “I’m sorry. No rudeness.” He paused. “Although I’m sure I could _google_ a curry recipe...”

Magnus groaned and Alec laughed. Really, was it so ridiculous that he, in the midst of his premature mid-life crisis, had simply agreed with whatever insane ideas Ragnor had put forward without researching them himself?

Admittedly, it sounded stupid even in his own head. 

“What about you?” Magnus asked, pointedly turning the conversation away from himself. “You’ve never really told me about your family, either. Other than Isabelle and Max, of course. And I discovered today that you’re a city boy at heart.”

“Simon?” Alec guessed, to which Magnus nodded. “I grew up in London with my parents, hated every minute of it, and left as soon as I could.”

“You hated London?” Magnus asked, a little bewildered by the concept. Admittedly, the price of living in London was extortionate, but everything else was so good. So convenient. So wonderfully anonymous. 

Also, at times, so high-pressure and fast-paced that it had nearly killed him, but that was irrelevant. 

“Not really London itself, I suppose,” Alec said. “My parents both worked in the city, and they spent so much time at work that they never saw us, or each other. They got divorced after I left for uni.”

“London is a tough place to work, sometimes.”

Alec set his fork down, a serious expression settling across his face. “Magnus, can I ask—why did you come here? You and Clary? Neither of you are exactly well attuned to the place.”

“Well, like I said, my friend Ragnor suggested it, and when Clary floated the idea to her parents, they told her that they’d been on holiday to Stickwick a few times when she was a child. It seemed like fate.”

“No.” Alec smiled, shaking his head. “No, I mean why did you move at all? Why move away from London?”

Magnus’ heart jumped, thudding hard against his rib cage. He glanced down at his food, suddenly much less hungry. He didn’t know why he was so nervous to talk about it, but he was. Despite knowing that he shouldn’t, he felt shame about what had happened. He felt like a failure.

“I—” He cleared his throat. “It was me, really. Clary was getting tired of what she was doing, and she’d been talking about doing something new or going travelling or something for months. It was me who was the catalyst, if you like. I had a breakdown.”

He looked up at Alec, expecting to find surprise or dismay or judgement on his face. But there was none of that. Only concern clear in the slight furrow of his brow and in those intense hazel eyes that were focused solely on Magnus. 

“I didn’t realise it until it was too late, but I was burning out. I’d stopped enjoying my job a long time ago. I’d always loved writing, but, until I came to Stickwick, I hadn’t written a word for years. I was working longer and longer hours, rising up the ranks, dealing with more and more crap and getting better salaries but crappier bonuses than all my white male peers, and I hated every second of it. It was killing me, but I felt like I had to do it. I’d committed to the career. 

“Until I just couldn’t, anymore. I went home one day and had a meltdown, alone in my apartment, and realised that work was my entire life. I hardly had time for my friends, my dating life had gone to shit and I was settling for sex with people who treated me like crap, I never had any fun, and I got no fulfilment from my job. I got signed off sick by a doctor, and I gave in my notice the next day.

“And it took a while, but eventually Ragnor and Clary persuaded me that I should try something different for a while. Go back to things I loved. Try a new place where nobody knew me. So I ended up here.”

“That must have been hard,” Alec said, voice soft.

Magnus shot him a fragile smile. “Yes and no. I’m glad I did it. I still don’t know what I’m going to do now, once my six months here are up and I have to go back to the real world and my real life, but hopefully it’ll be something that doesn’t give me dangerously high blood pressure.”

His doctor had been extremely alarmed when she’d taken his blood pressure the day after he’d had his breakdown. She’d taken it twice with the machine and once manually just to be sure.

“This is your real life, you know?” Alec’s voice was gentle. “I know it’s not what you’re used to, but it’s still real.”

“But it’s like a holiday,” Magnus said. “I’m not earning any money here. I’ve got savings, so it’s not a problem right now, but I can’t do this forever.”

“No,” Alec agreed. “But I’m just saying. Going back to London doesn’t have to be your starting point. You can do anything you want.”

“Well.” Magnus plastered a smile across his face, desperate for the topic to be dropped so that they could go back to lighter things that didn’t make him feel like he was about to have another existential crisis. “Maybe, in another few months, I’ll have some ideas.”

Ideas that didn’t involve either killing himself at a city law firm or going insane in a tiny little town. Somewhere in between. A nice middle ground. Perhaps a suburb, or a petite, picturesque sort of city.

Somewhere he could start his real life afresh.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Magnus and Clary are convinced their late-night visitor is a serial killer, Callie does not agree, and Isabelle has a bad day at work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: midnight snacks

The sound of someone knocking on the front door at Rose Cottage at quarter past eleven made Clary jump out of her skin. In the outskirts of a village the size of a penny, Clary and Magnus didn’t get many late night visitors. Even Callie looked a little nervous, getting up from where she’d been napping on Magnus’ feet in the living room to circle around. 

Magnus glanced over at Clary where they were sat side by side on the sofa, Magnus reading and Clary texting her mum, who was still in stitches over the fact that Magnus and Clary hadn’t realised that Stickwick was nicknamed England’s Rainbow Village. Apparently, everyone in their lives except them had assumed that that was _why_ she and Magnus had chosen to go there.

The irony was not lost on either of them.

“Don’t look at me,” Clary said. “I’m not opening the door to a serial killer.”

“It’s probably just Alec,” Magnus said, sounding unconvinced by his own words. “Who else would be knocking on our door this late without calling first?”

“A serial killer, that’s who.” 

The knock sounded again. Callie barked, and trotted towards the door fearlessly. 

“Callie! Come back!”

Callie barked again, putting one paw against the door, and Clary cringed. If the serial killer shot her dog, she would not be held responsible for her actions.

“I think you’re overreacting,” Magnus said, as though he, too, hadn’t looked worried a mere minute ago. “She can probably smell someone we know.”

“You open the bloody door then!”

Rolling his eyes, Magnus tossed his book down on the sofa and padded out of the living room to where Callie was whining low in her throat, now. He patted her on the head, and tugged her gently back so he could open the door.

“Isabelle,” Magnus said, a smile audible in his voice.

Callie barked excitedly, nosing eagerly at Isabelle’s hand, tail wagging excitedly. Clary could see Isabelle reach down to pet her, but she couldn’t see her face, blocked as it was by Magnus.

“Sorry to bang on your door uninvited,” Isabelle said, as she walked inside and Magnus closed the door behind her. “Is Clary still up?”

“Yep!” Clary shouted, scrambling to her feet. “I’m awake. Hi.”

Isabelle smiled at her. Something about it looked off. “Hi.”

Magnus glanced between the two of them, and then, tactfully, said, “I’m going up to bed.”

“Night,” Clary said, slightly distractedly, before turning her attention back to Isabelle. “Is everything alright?”

Isabelle nodded, paused, shook her head, and then, to Clary’s horror, her face crumpled and she began to cry. Alarmed, Clary reached out to pull her into a hug, letting Isabelle press her face into Clary’s shoulder. What on earth was going on?

“Sorry,” Isabelle said, sniffing. She pulled back to wipe at her eyes with the end of her sleeve, smearing mascara. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to turn up so late and just start crying.”

“Hey.” Clary laid her palm against Isabelle’s cheek. “Why don’t you sit down? I’ll make you a cup of tea and you can tell me what’s going on.”

“Yeah.” Isabelle shot her a watery smile. “Okay.”

Clary set about making tea in the kitchen, while Isabelle settled herself on the sofa. Callie came over to her, obviously sensing that something was wrong, and dropped her chin on Isabelle’s knee, staring up at her with huge sad eyes. The sight of the two of them together was enough to have Clary’s heart aching acutely. 

“Here,” Clary set a steaming mug of tea down on the coffee table, and sat down beside Isabelle, one hand resting on her thigh. “What’s going on, babe?”

“I had a horrible day at work. We’ve had this poor dog in for weeks with flystrike. I’ll spare you the truly horrible details, but he was so sick, and he was getting better, and everyone at the surgery loved him because he was such a lovely dog, and then today, suddenly, he died. We thought he was on the road to recovery, and he just died. And his owners—”

Isabelle’s lower lip trembled. Clary lifted her hand from Isabelle’s thigh and slipped it around her shoulders.

“They’d barely been to see him, but when we called to tell them the news, they marched in and had a go at everyone. Told us we’d done something wrong. That it was all our fault. I handled it at the time, because that’s what you do, right? You handle it. But when I got home tonight I was...”

“Shaking,” Clary said, running her hand soothingly down Isabelle’s back. “You’re shaking.”

Isabelle sniffed. “I hate losing any animal, but some hit so much harder than others. And then to not only be accused of doing my job badly when I know that we did everything we could, but to have them scream at us in front of all my colleagues...”

“Was Maia there?”

“Yeah.” Isabelle smiled wryly. “She was amazing, as always. Told me I should go and be with someone, not go home alone. She was right.”

“Well, I’m glad you came.” Clary pressed a kiss to her temple. “I’m sorry you had to deal with such crap. And I’m sorry the dog died.”

“Me too,” Isabelle said sadly. “Thank you for the tea.”

A sudden thought occurred to Clary. She told Isabelle that she’d be right back, and dashed into the kitchen to rummage around in one of the top cupboards. She could never reach anything Magnus put in there, from his unfairly tall height, but she’d strategically tucked a packet of biscuits in the corner where she’d hoped Magnus wouldn’t notice them. 

(Magnus was terrible about biscuits. He couldn’t leave them alone. It was a miracle, frankly, that he had such little body fat when he ate so damn many.)

(That was probably the stress, Clary realised.)

Clary walked back into the room brandishing an unopened packet of custard creams and half a packet of bourbons. 

“Gifts,” she announced. “Want one?”

“Oh my god.” Isabelle’s face lit up. “You are the best girlfriend ever.”

They curled up on the sofa together, Isabelle sipping her tea while they ate a truly disgusting number of biscuits. Even Magnus would have been impressed by their rate of consumption, Clary thought.

“Clary?”

“Mmm?”

“Is it okay if I stay here tonight?”

Clary smiled at her. “Of course. I can lend you some clothes.”

They weren’t too dissimilar in height, but they had very different body types. Nevertheless, Clary couldn’t help but be a little turned on by the thought of Isabelle wearing her clothes to bed. Not that that was an appropriate thought, with Isabelle so upset by her day at work, but, well. Clary was only human. And Isabelle was so fucking beautiful there really should have been some law against it. 

“Thank you.” 

Isabelle pressed herself up against Clary’s side and rested her head on the curve of Clary’s shoulder. She let out a long, slow exhale, the tension tightening her muscles seeming to bleed out of her as she did. 

“I’m not sure I can be bothered to move,” Isabelle murmured. “You’re comfy.”

“Am I?” Clary asked, trying not to giggle at Isabelle’s sleepy assertions.

“Mmhm. Your boobs are even comfier.”

That time, Clary did laugh. Isabelle lifted her head slightly to fix her with an unimpressed frown. 

“I’m serious,” Isabelle insisted. “Your boobs are extremely comfortable to lay on.”

“Thank you,” Clary said, grinning. “Does that get me extra girlfriend points?”

“Yes. Lots of extra girlfriend points.”

“Well,” Clary mused, “I suppose that is the important thing.”

“Exactly.”

“Perhaps you and I should go upstairs, so you can lay on my boobs in a bed, rather than on a sofa?”

“Fine.” Isabelle sighed. “In a minute, though.”

Clary rolled her eyes, but she didn’t protest. Instead, she raked her fingers through the tangles in Isabelle’s hair, gently working them out and thinking that, in truth, she’d have been perfectly happy to stay lounging on that sofa with Isabelle for eternity.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: domestic
> 
> Quick warning: there’s some frank talk about having sex as a trans man in this chapter. It’s not particularly explicit, but if that’s something that bothers you, you might want to skip this one. 
> 
> Much love <3

Christmas had never been a big thing in Magnus’ life. So despite what seemed like half of Stickwick complaining about how he couldn’t spend Christmas alone, when they discovered that Clary had gone home for Christmas, Magnus did, in fact, spend Christmas Day doing absolutely nothing.

Which was fine by him. He never had cared much for Christmas dinner. Not that his mother had ever really subscribed to the Christian whims of Christmas, anyway. She’d used it as an excuse to buy him a gift, but that was about it.

Isabelle, Alec and Max informed him that they were going to see their mother, and Raphael and Simon were off to visit Raphael’s family. Meliorn and Jace were enjoying their own celebrations, and had invited Magnus to join them, but Magnus had refused. He didn’t want to impose.

On the twenty-eighth, having spent three days straight writing chapter after chapter that he was actually reasonably pleased with, Alec texted to say that he’d be back in Stickwick that evening. Like the lovesick fool that Ragnor had informed him he was, Magnus smiled dopily at his phone as he texted Alec back to ask if he wanted to come over. He got a resounding yes in response.

“Hey,” Magnus greeted Alec that evening, shutting the front door behind him and trying not to sound too eager.

It was ridiculous. He’d seen Alec five days ago, but he’d missed him. Missing people was dangerous. Missing people meant that he cared. That he was becoming attached. 

People could disappoint him when he became attached. They could hurt him. 

“Hey,” Alec said, smiling. He leant in to press a kiss to Magnus’ lips, pulling back quickly. The simple contact left Magnus feeling a little dazed. Hello kisses weren’t something he was very familiar with. At least, not anymore.

“How was Christmas?” Magnus asked. “Do you want a drink?”

Alec shook his head as they walked into the kitchen. “I’m fine, thanks. And Christmas was fine. Not wildly exciting.”

Magnus leant back against the counter in a mirror of the way Alec had leant back against the table. “Seeing your mum must have been nice.”

Alec smiled wryly. “Yeah, of course. She can be tough, though. Especially when we do things that she doesn’t think are for the best. Never mind that I’m in my thirties.”

“What can you possibly be doing that any mother disapproves of? You’re a doctor. Most parents would kill for their kids to do something so honourable.”

Alec let out a laugh. “Yeah, she was pretty pleased about that, to be honest. It took her a while to accept that gay thing. Me and Iz. And then Max told her he’s pan, and she just—” Alec shook his head. “She’s a lot better now, but when I came out it was a disaster. And for a while, I think she thought that Max was just copying Izzy and I.”

“But she’s not like that anymore?”

“No. She got a lot better after she divorced my dad. We all did, really. But–” Alec offered Magnus a slightly weak grin “–enough of the heavy crap. How was your Christmas?”

Magnus shot him a glare, though it held little heat. “Ha ha. Very funny. My Christmas was rather good, actually. Callie woke me up at some godforsaken hour, but other than that, it was very peaceful.”

“Where is Callie?” Alec asked, looking hopeful. “She normally jumps all over me.”

Magnus rolled his eyes. If he didn’t know better, he would have been suspicious that Alec and Isabelle were only dating him and Clary for unsolicited access to Callie. They both adored her. It was very sweet, but the dog was a terrible mood-killer, sometimes.

“Meliorn asked if he could borrow her. He’s reading to kids at the library, or something similarly virtuous.”

Alec glanced to the side. “So we have the place to ourselves?”

“We do, yes.”

Which, in Magnus’ not so humble opinion, made a rather nice change. He wasn’t used to having to share his space. Admittedly, Rose Cottage had plenty of room, when it was just him and Clary, but add in Callie and the semi-regular appearance of Isabelle and Alec, and it sometimes felt a little overcrowded. 

Something flashed in Alec’s eyes as he pushed off the counter and took several slow, deliberate steps towards Magnus. His gaze didn’t waver as he reached out to lay his palm flat against Magnus’ chest, right over his heart. His pupils were dilated, and Magnus felt his heart rate beginning to increase.

“So,” Alec said, voice low, “nobody is going to interrupt us?”

Magnus swallowed and tilted his chin up. “Are you propositioning me?”

Alec arched an eyebrow. “Would it be a problem if I am?”

“No,” Magnus breathed, curling a hand around the back of Alec’s neck. “No, it most definitely would not be a problem.”

He’d barely finished speaking before Alec’s lips covered his, kissing him hungrily. Magnus let out a surprised moan, dragging Alec closer with his other hand and stumbling back a little as Alec pressed them firmly together. He crashed back against the counter, scrambling to steady himself with one hand. 

Alec pulled away from his mouth and began to trail slow, hot kisses along his jawline. He tugged at Magnus’ earlobe with his teeth before descending, nipping and sucking along the taut tendons in Magnus’ neck. 

With a gasp, Magnus let his head fall back, eyes heavy-lidded as he watched the top of Alec’s head, fingers carding absently through his hair. Alec sucked lightly at Magnus’ pulse point, and Magnus’ grip on his hair tightened involuntarily. He felt Alec smirk against his skin. 

“Alexander,” Magnus sighed, as Alec began kissing back up again, back to his face, the corner of his mouth, his lips, where he kissed him once, twice, three times, the third slow and deep and so tantalising it made Magnus’ toes curl. 

Gently, still kissing him, Alec’s hands trailed down his sides to his thighs. He broke their kiss just long enough to hitch Magnus up onto the counter, eliminating the few inches of height difference between them. 

Magnus had been blessed by genes that made him tall, and he frequently appreciated them when he was negotiating with dicks who assumed that his penchant for eyeliner made him a weaker opponent. Despite himself, he found having to tip his head up to kiss Alec just a little bit sexy. People weren’t often taller than him.

“Wait.”

He wrenched himself away from Alec’s lips and put a hand on his chest, pushing him back lightly. Not that it took much force: Alec pulled back instantly, brow furrowing in concern and eyes searching Magnus’ as though he might be able to read the problem in his face if he looked hard enough.

It was rather endearing. 

“Do you want to stop?” Alec asked.

Magnus shook his head. “No, just– Pause, for a minute.”

“Of course. But we don’t have to. I mean, I want to, but not if you don’t.”

A smile caught at the corners of Magnus’ lips. “I do want to. Frankly, I want to climb you like a tree.”

Alec snorted. “Please, feel free.”

“I need to know that you want to. Really want to.”

“What?” 

Confusion washed across Alec’s face. He shifted his weight where he was standing between Magnus’ knees, and set a hand lightly on Magnus’ thigh. Magnus didn’t know whether it was supposed to be comfort or reassurance, but it was nice. The contact was nice. He covered Alec’s hand with his own and squeezed. 

“I know you think you do,” Magnus said, trying not to think of all the times he’d been in similar positions to this one, only for the experience to quickly turn sour once things got more heated. “But you’re gay. I don’t look like a cis man once you take all my clothes off.”

Alec began to protest almost immediately, but Magnus held up a finger in front of his lips to cut him off. Even if Alec thought he understood, he didn’t. Magnus needed to say his piece more for himself and his own peace of mind than anything else. 

“We’ve never really talked about it,” Magnus pointed out.

“We don’t need to. I’m very attracted to you.”

“Yes,” Magnus said, smiling a little, “but I’ve had people tell me that before, only to back out when they’re not comfortable with what they seen underneath my clothes. Mostly gay men.” He nodded pointedly at Alec. To his relief, Alec didn’t seem offended.

“Magnus,” Alec said softly, “without wishing to be crude, I am aware that you’re trans, and that is not an issue for me. Not at all. I think you’re gorgeous and I want you, and I don’t know how I can make you believe that but please tell me.”

“Can we just–” Magnus waved a hand vaguely in the air between them. “Can we just acknowledge the fact that I do not have a penis before we get into bed?”

“Acknowledged,” Alec said, sounding incredibly serious about the whole thing. Which was the idea, of course, but lots of people tried to laugh about it because discussing it made them a little uncomfortable. Alec didn’t seem to have such qualms.

“That said.” Magnus paused. “Please, never, ever say the word _vagina_ when we’re having sex.”

“I think I can manage that. Anything else?”

“No. Just–don’t overthink. I can tell when people are overthinking, and it makes the whole thing very awkward.”

“Alright,” Alec agreed. He grinned, and added, “To tell you the truth, sex is probably one of the few activities where I don’t overthink.”

Magnus laughed. “Well, that serves our purposes well.”

Something intense flitted across Alec’s face. He fitted his palm against the length of Magnus’ cheek, and brushed his thumb gently back and forth across his skin. The touch was so infinitely tender that Magnus’ eyelashes fluttered, and a soft, wounded sound made its way up from the back of his throat.

“Please,” Alec said, voice low, “don’t ever be afraid to tell me if something I say or do makes you uncomfortable.”

“I’m sure you won’t,” Magnus said, and he meant it. Alec had never made him feel like less of a man, nor had he ever said anything to imply such a thing.

“Not just during sex. In general. About anything. I want you to know that you can talk to me about things that upset you. I won’t get offended.”

“Alright,” Magnus agreed, leaning into Alec’s touch. “Will you take me to bed, now?”

A lopsided grin stretched its way across Alec’s face, and, without warning, he fitted his hands beneath Magnus’ thighs and hitched him up. Magnus let out an undignified yelp and grabbed at Alec’s shoulders, feeling thoroughly disorientated. 

“Do not carry me up the stairs,” Magnus warned him, as Alec made his way through the kitchen. “You can manhandle me as much as you like in bed, but those stairs are so narrow we’ll both end up bruised.”

“Fine,” Alec said with a decidedly melodramatic sigh. He set Magnus back down and grabbed his hand instead. “Come on. I am literally dying to kiss you.”

Magnus scoffed, walking up the stairs ahead of Alec. “You are not _literally dying_.”

“I am,” Alec insisted, mischief sparkling in his eyes. “I’m a doctor. I know things.”

“Oh, well.” Magnus put a hand over his heart. “If it’s for the greater good, I suppose I’ll have to let you kiss me.”

“Mmhm. I agree.”

Magnus slapped him lightly on the shoulder as they reached the landing, and turned around just in time to see Alec lift his gaze away from Magnus’ arse. He looked entirely unapologetic at having been caught staring, and merely lifted an eyebrow, as though to say, _What are you going to do about it?_

“You’re a menace,” Magnus told him, backing into his bedroom. 

“Oh, _I’m_ a menace?” Alec shook his head. “All this talk about kissing and manhandling and I’ve barely touched you for at least four minutes. Anybody would think you’re teasing me on purpose.”

Magnus grabbed Alec by the front of his shirt and yanked him forwards. Their bodies collided, and Magnus plastered himself up against Alec’s front, feeling the muscles of Alec’s stomach tense at the contact.

“Oh, Doctor Lightwood,” Magnus murmured, lips a hairbreadth from Alec’s, “if you think that’s teasing, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

***

Magnus awoke to an empty bed in the morning. 

He frowned when he rolled over to find Alec missing from his side of the bed, and patted at the empty space. It was still warm. He couldn’t have been gone for long. If things were good and right and fair in the world, he was just in the bathroom, and would reappear to give Magnus the morning cuddles he always desired after a night of truly excellent sex. Magnus could still feel the bone deep satisfaction after Alec had turned his entire being into a puddle of goo the previous night. He felt like he was floating on a hazy cloud of sublime bliss.

After a few minutes of laying there, alone, Magnus began to feel a little dissatisfied by Alec’s disappearance. He wanted cuddles, damnit. 

Then he heard a clatter and a curse from downstairs, and he smiled to himself. Alec clearly hadn’t gone far. 

A moment later, the ominous creak of someone stepping on the third step from the top met his ears, and the bedroom door opened, revealing Alec carrying a tray. On it were two cups of coffee, a plate of toast and a bowl of fruit. 

Any of Magnus’ disgruntled feelings evaporated. The man was too good to be true. 

“You’re awake.” Alec smiled that hundred-watt smile, eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that almost tempted Magnus to get out of bed so he could kiss them. “I made breakfast.”

“Thank you,” Magnus said sincerely, taking the tray from Alec and setting it on the bed. He picked up a piece of toast and bit off the corner, the smell of the food making him realise just how hungry he was. 

Alec settled beside him, cross-legged, and picked up one of the coffees, blowing delicately across the steaming surface. 

“How are you feeling?” Alec asked.

Magnus smiled. “Like I spent hours having my world rocked by a gorgeous man.”

To Magnus’ delight, that made the tops of Alec’s cheeks turn a light shade of pink as he battled down a self-satisfied grin. 

“Good,” was all Alec said. “Do you have plans for today?”

Magnus hummed. “I was thinking breakfast, then getting in the cuddles I was denied because my boyfriend was so busy making me food, and then maybe sex. And I have to pick up Callie at some point.”

Alec shook his head, grinning. “Shameless.”

Magnus blinked innocently. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Come here,” Alec said, reclining back against the pillows and lifting an arm in clear invitations. “We can do cuddles and breakfast at the same time.”

“Cuddles will last longer than breakfast.”

“No complaints here,” Alec said, as Magnus settled against his side. He pressed a lingering kiss to Magnus’ temple. “Boyfriend, huh?”

Magnus paused, toast halfway to his mouth as the thought back on his last few sentences. Damn. It had slipped out without him really thinking about it.

“Is that wrong?” Magnus asked cautiously. 

“Not at all,” Alec said, to Magnus’ relief. “I don’t make breakfast for just anybody, you know.”

Magnus let out a laugh, and Alec grinned against his hair, and, fuck, Magnus wanted to bottle that moment so he could relive it in all the difficult days that were surely lingering just beyond the horizon, back in the real world.

For now, though, he was allowed this. He was allowed to have something good, and joyful, and easy.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: proposal (but not the kind you’re thinking)

“Hey, Clary?”

Clary looked up to see Max standing in the doorway of what had become her classroom over the last few months. She’d only been back at work for half a week, following the Christmas holidays, and she hadn’t realised how much she’d missed it. 

“Max.”

He shot her a lopsided smile, and, for a moment, despite the fact that they shared very few physical features, he looked so much like Alec that it was uncanny. She’d seen just the same expression on Alec’s face—usually when he was teasing Magnus.

“Headmistress wants to speak to you.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “We think she wants to offer you a job.”

Clary blinked. “I have a job.”

“Yeah, but you’re leaving in March, and it’s part time.” Max began to back away, holding his hands up with his palms forward. “I’m just giving you a heads up so that you don’t get that look on your face in front of her!”

Clary scowled at him. “Thanks a lot, Max!”

Jia Penhallow was adored by all the pupils and struck fear into the hearts of every other member of staff at the school. Clary felt like a naughty schoolgirl as she waited outside Jia’s office, waiting to be admitted and under the hawk-like gaze of her secretary, who was equally as terrifying as Jia herself. 

Jia was smiling when she welcomed Clary inside and offered her a seat and a Hobnob biscuit; it made Clary feel rather wrong-footed, and, if possible, even more nervous. Whatever Max said, that was only a rumour. Perhaps Jia had called her in to inform her that she was being sacked for inappropriate conduct. 

(What inappropriate conduct she could possibly have been accused of was beside the point.)

“You’ve been quite a hit with our children,” Jia said pleasantly, breaking her own Hobnob in half to eat it, like some sort of serial killer. “And feedback from parents has been very positive.”

“I’m glad,” Clary said, crossing and recrossing her legs. She felt underdressed. Jia was wearing a suit jacket and trousers and a pair of court shoes; Clary, on the other hand, was wearing a poppy-red jumper and jeans that only just passed as smart. 

“I’d like to offer you a permanent position,” Jia said, crossing her hands and leaning forwards across her desk. “I am aware that you’re only due to be in Stickwick until the end of March, but I hope you’ll consider the offer anyway.”

Clary hesitated. “That’s very kind of you, but with all due respect, I can’t live on a part-time salary.”

“Well, you’ve done a PGCE, haven’t you?” Jia asked, the question clearly rhetorical. “I would imagine we can come up with a full-time arrangement, if you want it.”

“But art-focused? Like what I’m doing now?”

“Of course.”

“I—”

She paused. Taking a job in Stickwick would mean uprooting her entire life. She’d leave London. Leave behind the lifestyle she’d been used to since she was a child. She’d be changing her career completely. She’d got a PGCE after she’d left university, dithering about what she wanted to do, but she’d never utilised it until now. 

Did she want to teach? She enjoyed working afternoons at the school, but as a permanent thing? She couldn’t see herself teaching for the next forty years, however sweet the kids were when they stumbled over the concept of calling an adult in a school by their first name. 

“I’ll think about it,” Clary said at last, wincing in anticipation of the offer being immediately retracted. 

“You do that.” Jia slid a folder across the desk. “In the mean time, this is what you’d be gaining if you took the position. Salary, promotion opportunities, job description... Let me know if you have any other questions.”

“Thank you. When do you need an answer by?”

“Well.” Jia sat back in her chair and appraised Clary with a knowing half-smile. “Let’s say I’d like to know before your tenancy at Rose Cottage is up.”

***

“Have you ever thought about staying here?”

Magnus didn’t falter in his movements, continuing to pluck vegetables from the pile he’d picked up at the grocer’s and chop them with an evenness that Clary would never have the patience for. Cooking, in general, was not something she had the patience for. Apparently, Magnus was trying to improve his culinary skills and get on a health kick. It appeared to mostly include adding copious quantities of vegetables to every meal. 

Which, to be fair, was probably quite healthy. Clary never ate vegetables, except for the occasional side of frozen peas. She didn’t know what to do with them to make them taste good. 

“No,” Magnus said, wrinkling his nose. “This is supposed to be an extended holiday. A mental health retreat. I’m not staying in a house with a driveway that smells of farmyard and has sheep closer by than people.”

Clary set her pencil down on the kitchen table, abandoning any pretence of trying to sketch. “But Stickwick in general isn’t so bad.”

“It’s not as bad as I thought it would be when we first got here,” Magnus admitted. “But what would you or I do long-term in Stickwick? There isn’t a law firm for miles. The commute would be horrifying. And the pay is shit.”

“So you’ve looked,” Clary said.

“Oh, months ago.” Magnus waved his knife in the air, and swapped it for a potato peeler. “I was curious.”

Clary fell quiet as Magnus slid the vegetables onto a roasting tray and slid them in the oven, before beginning to peel a pile of potatoes. The radio was on, playing some song that Clary vaguely recognised from about ten years ago, and Magnus looked relaxed. More relaxed than Clary had ever seen him. 

“I got offered a job today,” Clary told him. “At the school. Full time, starting September.”

Magnus glanced at her over his shoulder. “And?”

“Well.” Clary shrugged. “I won’t be here, so I can’t take it.”

“But?” Magnus prompted.

“But part of me wants to.”

His brow furrowed at that, and he set the peeler down to turn around fully. “You want to teach?”

Clary shrugged. “No. Yes. Not forever. But it’s not really about that. I could teach for a while and then find something else to do. It’s not like I was finding my job in publishing particularly fulfilling. I didn’t even get to do art most of the time.”

“What is it about, then?” Magnus’ eyebrows hitched up. “Is it Isabelle?”

A long sigh escaped her, and she felt her shoulders slump forwards. “I don’t know. Partly, maybe. I wasn’t exactly planning on jumping into a relationship here, you know? And it’s only been a couple of months, but that’s the longest relationship I’ve had for a while, and it’s good.”

“You can’t stay just for Isabelle,” Magnus said softly. “We both know how that story goes.”

Clary smiled wryly. They’d both had relationships were they put the other person so far above their own wants and needs that it almost destroyed them. 

“It’s not just Isabelle,” Clary admitted. “I _like_ Stickwick. I like living here. And, okay, if I were living here long-term I should probably learn how to drive, but I like the lifestyle. It’s relaxed. I don’t feel like I’m struggling to just tread water all the time. The people are friendlier than they are in London.”

“That’s true,” Magnus acknowledged, “but wouldn’t you miss London, after a while? Miss the pace and competition of life in the city?”

“I don’t know,” Clary said, burying her head in her arms with a moan of misery. “I don’t know, Magnus. Do I actually like living in London or is it just all I’ve ever known? Is the Tube actually convenient or is driving somewhere like this superior? Do I care about the culture and nightlife now I’m not a student? Is the insane cost of living worth it?”

“Whoa, okay.”

The sound of the chair beside her being pulled out met her ears, and then Magnus was settling a comforting arm around her shoulders. Clary tilted her head towards him and sighed, closing her eyes. Why couldn’t life be simple? Why did she have to move to Stickwick and like it so damn much? Why did it have to be in a town in the middle of nowhere that she met someone like Isabelle? 

“You’ll work it out,” Magnus murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair. “You’ve got time to think everything through.”

“What’s going to have changed by March?”

“Maybe you should talk to Jocelyn and Luke,” Magnus said, patting her shoulder lightly. “Luke’s always good at setting your head on straight.”

That was true, Clary thought, mind flitting to all the times she’d been plagued by what seemed like an unsolvable dilemma, only for Luke to work it through with her in less than five minutes. The man was amazing. Even at age fifteen, when she’d refused to listen to anything her mother ever said, Clary had - grudgingly - listened to Luke.

“Maybe,” Clary agreed, lifting her head from the table and looking over at Magnus. “When did life get so complicated?”

“Darling.” A wry smile twisted at Magnus’ lips. “Life has always been complicated.”

***

The queue at Stickwick’s pharmacy on Saturday afternoon was significantly longer than Magnus had anticipated—he’d assumed there would only be one or two people waiting. How many people could be sick at one time in a such a minute town?

He entertained himself texting Ragnor, who, apparently, was being harassed at work by a woman twenty years his senior, who hadn’t understood his gentle let-downs. Ragnor being Ragnor didn’t want to outright tell her to fuck off. Magnus was having an excellent time taking the mickey out him for it.

He gave the pharmacist Clary’s name, wondering when it had become his job to run all of Clary’s errands for her. She was milking her inability to drive. Magnus was going to pay someone to teach her, at this rate.

After collecting Clary’s prescription and paying with her card, Magnus turned around and promptly walked straight into the person standing behind him. 

“Alexander!” he said, surprised and relieved in equal measure. Walking into Alec was far less embarrassing than walking into a perfect stranger.

“Hey.” Alec smiled at him, and Magnus frowned. He didn’t look like his usual shining self. 

“Are you alright?” Magnus asked in concern, battling down the desire to fuss. Alec was a grown man. He didn’t need fussing over. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Alec sniffed as he walked up to the counter to pay for two boxes of ibuprofen. “Just a cold. But a gross one.”

Magnus felt his expression soften with sympathy. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Alec shot the pharmacist a smile as he pocketed his card and tablets. “I’ve just taken my first sick day since I was an SHO.”

“Whatever one of those is.” Magnus held the door to the pharmacy open and gestured Alec through first. “Don’t tell me. I’ll never remember.”

Alec shot him a smile. “You have no idea how much I want to kiss you.”

“Well, why don’t you?”

“Because I don’t want to pass my probably-fatal sickness onto you.”

“Oh my god.” Magnus let out a slightly disbelieving laugh as they walked towards the little inlet at the rear of the building where everyone parked. “And people say I am melodramatic. A cold won’t kill you, doctor.”

Alec huffed. “I hate being sick. It’s a waste of time.”

“Because that is every normal person’s primary concern when they are sick and miserable,” Magnus said, amused. “What’s the doctor’s answer to a horrible cold?”

“Go home and stop demanding antibiotics for a viral infection.”

Magnus rolled his eyes. “I’m beginning to understand that stereotype about doctors making terrible patients, you know.”

Alec scowled. Magnus hated himself for thinking that it was a little bit adorable. Alec’s nose was a little red and his cheeks were flushed, either from sickness or the freezing cold weather, and Magnus really wanted to press kisses against his face until he scrunched his nose up and batted Magnus away. 

He refrained. They were in public. 

“Normal people lay on the sofa and watch crap TV and guilt other people into being nice to them,” Magnus said. “You know, _Mum, please can I have ice cream? It’ll make my sore throat feel so much better_.”

Alec’s lips quirked up. “Used that one once or twice, did you?”

“Just once or twice,” Magnus agreed, smirking. He pulled his keys out of his pocket as they reached their cars, incidentally parked beside each other. “Is this goodbye, or am I getting guilted into providing ice cream and sympathy?”

“I don’t know. Are you offering?”

“Yes,” Magnus said gently, smiling, all hints of teasing evaporating. “Yes, darling, I’m offering.”

With obvious care, Alec tilted his chin up and pressed a warm kiss between Magnus’ brows. His lips lingered for a long, glorious moment, and Magnus’ eyes fluttered closed as he savoured the feeling. Alec was almost too good to be true. Surely the other shoe was going to drop, soon?

“Thank you,” Alec murmured, pulling back. 

Magnus shook his head. “There’s no need to thank me.”

Alec climbed into his car and backed out, driving ahead of Magnus, and Magnus thought back to his conversation with Clary, the other day. Neither of them had come to Stickwick looking for a relationship, and yet here they were, having regular date nights and silly gooey feelings for two people who lived in a town that they were destined to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the prize for having absolutely no awareness of his situation goes to Magnus! (Denial. It’s denial.)
> 
> You can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/notcrypticlu?lang=en) and [Tumblr](http://notcrypticbutcoy.tumblr.com) (which is the superior platform, let’s not lie to ourselves).
> 
> Much love,  
> Lu <3


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabelle takes Clary on a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: stars

“Iz, come say hi to my mum!”

Isabelle’s head whipped around from where she was sneaking biscuits from Magnus’ stash in the kitchen, eyes wide. She shook her head frantically, looking a little alarmed at the concept, but Clary merely rolled her eyes with impatience and beckoned her over. Honestly, they’d been dating for nearly three months. She’d told her mother and Luke all about Isabelle over Christmas, and Jocelyn kept unsubtly mentioning her when Clary called. 

_I hate you_ , Isabelle mouthed, but she dropped Magnus’ biscuits and headed over to where Clary was curled into the corner of the sofa. 

“You must be Isabelle,” Jocelyn said, beaming from Clary’s iPad screen. “Clary’s told us so much about you.”

Isabelle’s eyebrows shot up, and she turned to look at Clary, a grin beginning to tug at the corners of her lips. “Oh, has she now?”

“Oh, yes,” Jocelyn continued, apparently oblivious to the steady reddening of Clary’s cheeks and the immense regret she was feeling for ever having thought that this would be a good idea. “You’re a vet, we hear.”

“I am.” Isabelle poked Clary in the side out of view of the iPad’s camera, and Clary tried her best to keep a straight face and not squirm. She was ticklish there, damnit. “But I should stress that Callie is not my fault.”

Jocelyn looked blank. “Callie?”

“Uh.” Clary shot her mum a sheepish smile. “Callie is a dog. Our dog.”

“You’ve...adopted a dog?” Her brow furrowed and the line of her lips thinned. “Aren’t you living with Magnus?”

It wasn’t that Jocelyn had a problem with Clary dating women, but she was a little suspicious if her relationships moved too quickly. And she liked to vet Clary’s girlfriends according to all sorts of strange criteria before they were deemed acceptable. When Clary had called her out on it, once, she’d denied it all, but she still did it. She was getting better, but it was a work in progress.

“Oh my god.” Clary let out a laugh of exasperation. “No, Magnus and I adopted Callie, not Isabelle and I. We found her.”

“Oh.” Jocelyn’s brow smoothed out. “Well, why haven’t you sent me any pictures?”

“Mum, you hate dogs.”

Clary had always loved them, much to Jocelyn’s horror. She still remembered fearlessly running up to dogs in the park when she was a child, leaving her mother fretting from several metres away. Maybe Jocelyn would learn to love Callie.

And, well. That was something she and Magnus were going to have to fight over, when they moved out of Rose Cottage. Who got to keep Callie. Originally, Clary had been pretty certain that Callie would be firmly hers, and Magnus would simply tolerate her inhabiting the same space as him, but that hadn’t turned out to be the case. Much like her, Magnus had fallen prey to Callie’s floppy ears and adorable puppy eyes.

“So, Clary, are you going to bring Isabelle home to meet us, soon?” 

Clary sighed. “Mum. We’ve talked about this.”

“What?” Jocelyn asked innocently. “I’m just wondering.”

“Don’t wonder. Just appreciate how lovely Isabelle is through a screen.”

Clary managed to get rid of her mother after another few minutes. Jocelyn was in one of her overbearing mother moods, and Clary refused to deal with it. She was a grown woman - she was pushing thirty, for crying out loud - and she didn’t need her mother to attempt to micromanage her life. She certainly didn’t need any thinly veiled disapproval about her choice to move to Stickwick.

Setting her iPad on the coffee table, Clary let out a long sigh and flopped back against the sofa, letting her eyes close. A moment later, she felt fingers playing gently with the strands of her hair, and she smiled. 

“Sorry,” Clary murmured. “She’s not always like that. But she can be a bit over-involved. Only child syndrome, and all that.”

“It’s fine,” Isabelle assured her. “She clearly cares about you.”

“Too much, maybe. She’s not very good at letting go.”

“But your step-dad? Luke? He’s better?”

“Oh, yeah.” Clary grinned and opened her eyes, turning to face Isabelle. “Luke’s really chill. You’d like him. He balances Mum out, too. It was a shame he wasn’t home, really.”

Isabelle smiled. “Maybe next time.”

“What about your parents? You don’t talk about them much. None of you do.”

“Well, you know that they’re divorced. I don’t really see my dad any more. The gay thing upset him.” She held up a hand before Clary could express any sympathy. “Don’t. It’s an old wound.”

“Still.”

Isabelle shook her head. “My mother tries. She was a pretty crap mother when Alec and I were growing up, but she was better for Max, and she’s trying now. So she gets points for that. And–” she swung her legs off the sofa and onto the floor and made to stand “–that is quite enough talk about my parents. What do you say to a spontaneous trip?”

“A trip?” Clary raised her eyebrows. “Where?”

“That’s a surprise.”

“Well, okay. If it’s me and you.”

“Flirt,” Isabelle teased. “Wrap up warm.”

***

Stickwick seemed like a tiny little town in the middle of nowhere, but Isabelle seemed to be driving them further into the wilderness. They drove over an old bridge that looked like it had been built by the Romans, and Clary felt her heart skip a beat as Isabelle’s car rolled cheerfully across it. The thing looked like it would collapse in the next storm.

Isabelle drove them up a long, winding hill that formed half of a long, deep valley. Cows were grazing on the opposite hill, unbothered by the exploits of humanity, and the sun was just visible above the horizon, daylight quickly fading.

It was a little bit like their first date, Clary thought, glancing across at Isabelle with a fond smile. Trust Isabelle to do something romantic like that.

They parked close to the top of the hill, and Isabelle gathered up a blanket and the bag of food from the back of the car, before stepping out onto the grassy ground. She was wearing boots instead of stilettos, this time, but they were still heeled, and Clary still didn’t understand how she could be so confident that she wouldn’t step in a rabbit hole and twist her ankle.

Once Isabelle had laid out the blanket, they sat down together and Isabelle began unpacking the bag of food, which seemed to mostly consist of cheese, crackers, grapes and wine. Which was just fine by Clary, quite frankly. Wine and grapes counted as two of her five a day, didn’t they? Who needed proper food? 

Someone in her head that sounded a lot like Magnus was telling her that she wasn’t a student any more and so was not supposed to apply idiotic logic to her culinary choices. She decided that the voice could kindly fuck off. 

“Is there a particular reason you’re romancing me tonight?” Clary asked, hitching an eyebrow and smiling. 

“If I could, I’d romance you every night,” Isabelle replied, taking a sip of her wine and smiling at Clary over the top of the glass.

“Smooth,” Clary said, leaning over their spread of food to kiss her. The taste of wine on her lips was intoxicating.

“Mmm. I like to think so,” Isabelle murmured against her lips. 

She set her wine down and reached the other hand out to cup Clary’s cheek, holding her gently in place so she could bring their lips back together. Clary let out a soft noise of satisfaction and pressed closer. Kissing Isabelle was glorious, but, also, Isabelle was warm. Clary was cold. 

“I know what you’re doing,” Isabelle said, smiling, eyes still closed as they broke apart. “I did tell you to wear warm clothes.”

“Warm clothes are not sexy,” Clary told her, stealing another kiss. “You always look sexy. It’s not fair.”

Isabelle snorted. “Hypothermia isn’t very sexy either. Besides, I think you look sexy whatever you’re wearing.”

“Liar. Sweatpants? My school leavers hoodie that is still too big, despite it being the smallest size they did? My terrible bedhead?”

“Clary.” 

Isabelle pulled back properly. Her smile had softened into something small and infinitely tender, and Clary’s breath caught for a moment and how much affection Isabelle’s expression held. Her eyes were liquid soft and glimmering with stars reflected in the inky depths of her pupils. 

She looked ethereal, wind blowing lightly through her hair and the moonlight casting a silvery glow across her skin. She looked untouchable, and yet Clary could still taste Isabelle’s lips on hers. The knowledge was heady. Enthralling. She could touch Isabelle. She was allowed to. Isabelle _wanted_ her to. 

“You’re beautiful,” Isabelle said, in a perfect mirror of Clary’s own thoughts. “It doesn’t matter what you’re wearing or what your hair looks like. You’re beautiful.”

“Iz.” Clary’s expression softened. “Isabelle.”

“You are. It’s tragic that you don’t quite believe me.”

Clary shot her a wobbly smile, embarrassed by how emotional Isabelle’s words were making her. Nobody had ever said such things to her with such intense sincerity. It was a little overwhelming. Especially when the sentiment was coming from Isabelle, who was, frankly, the most gorgeous woman Clary had ever had the privilege of seeing.

“Lay back,” Isabelle said suddenly, falling back on her elbows and lowering herself flat onto the blanket. “Look up.”

Clary laid down beside Isabelle. Their sides pressed together as she settled into place; Isabelle reached for her hand and held it in both of hers. Clary had to battle down a smile. Overhead, the stars were clearer than any Clary had ever seen in London. The sky was dotted with tiny pinpricks of shimmering light.

“I was fascinated by the stars as a kid,” Isabelle murmured. “The idea that what we’re seeing right now is the distant past. The light that we can see was emitted thousands of light years ago. Some of the stars we can see tonight have exploded into black holes and supernovas and nebulas. Others have existed since before the Earth. Some will still be there long after the Earth has gone.”

She paused, but Clary kept staring up at the sky, enraptured by Isabelle’s words. 

“It always used to put things into perspective for me. We’re so small, and our lives are so fleeting, in the grand scheme of things, and we’ll never understand even a fraction of the universe around us. But we prioritise. Each of us chooses the things that we care most about. It’s okay that everybody’s priorities are different. We only have one life. Looking up at the stars always used to remind me that it’s not worth spending time agonising over every tiny thing in my life that went wrong. I needed to celebrate the good things.” 

She turned her head on the blanket. Clary tore her gaze from the stars to look at Isabelle, who outshone every star and nebula and supernova.

“Like you,” Isabelle said, and Clary’s lips parted. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me for years, Clary Fray.”

“Isabelle,” Clary whispered.

“I think you know how I feel about you.” Isabelle smiled, so warmly and so gently that Clary couldn’t breathe for a moment. “But I’m not going to say it until you’re ready to hear it. And I know you’re not. Not yet.”

Heart pounding, Clary scrambled for words that would halfway match what Isabelle was saying to her. 

“Isabelle, I—”

“Don’t.” Isabelle shook her head, still smiling that soft little smile. “I just wanted you to know, that’s all.”

Clary exhaled shakily, and shifted closer on the blanket to kiss Isabelle, hoping she could convey everything she couldn’t say through touch. Because, god, Isabelle was right. Whatever she felt, Clary was nowhere near ready for that. She wasn’t ready to admit that. Wasn’t ready for what it might mean. Wasn’t ready for the vast depth of what it _could_ mean. 

So, instead of acknowledging everything curled up inside her chest waiting to explode, she kissed Isabelle, softly, over and over again, until her senses were saturated and her mind was quiet and her heart was aching in the good, sweet way.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Magnus has an unpleasant encounter, Clary gets a surprise visit from home, and Isabelle gets into an argument.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: discrimination
> 
> This chapter gets a bit heavy - sorry! No slurs or anything like that, but a fair few microaggressions in here, if that makes you uncomfortable.

For reasons that were undoubtedly due to how crap the weather was, Stickwick’s tourism industry was almost entirely silent during the winter months. The landlady renting Rose Cottage had practically wept with joy when Magnus and Clary had told her that they wanted the place for sixth months during Stickwick’s quietest period. 

So Magnus was almost as surprised as the locals when he walked through the village centre on his way back from a morning at the care home to find a couple of young men looking at a paper OS map while they stood in the queue for the bakery. They were reading it upside-down, frowning, and Magnus had to hold in a snort. Dressed like every privileged twenty-something white guy from London trying to look cool, they really couldn’t have looked more tourist-y if they tried.

And, oh, how the residents of Stickwick would have laughed if Magnus ever voiced such a thought out loud. Alec hadn’t mentioned the mortifying events of their meeting for a while, but Magnus was quite sure he’d bring it up in a nanosecond if Magnus gave him the opportunity. 

It was a Saturday, so Meliorn’s assistant, Aline, was standing behind the counter, chatting to the regulars and making the kids giggle. Magnus found himself smiling as he joined the end of the queue. Growing up in the wake of the AIDS epidemic, he’d spent most his childhood around people who thought that queer people were inherently inappropriate for children to be around. The fact that the parents in Stickwick considered this diverse community one in which they wanted to raise their children made him feel warm. It gave him hope that, one day, no child would be afraid to tell their parents that they didn’t fit into society’s cisgender, heterosexual norm. 

The young men in front of Magnus reached the front of the queue, and Aline asked them to wait a moment while she brought out some more stock. She didn’t linger to hear their answer, but Magnus did, and he frowned. He understood impatience, and having places to be, but it was hardly Aline’s fault that they needed to delay by sixty seconds. 

“I’m very sorry,” Aline said as she came back through. “We don’t have any of that left, but we do have—”

“This is what we get for stopping in a crappy little town full of immigrants,” one of the men said, rolling his eyes.

“That one is very similar,” Aline said, tapping a finger against the display cabinet to indicate a poppyseed loaf, not batting an eye at the rudeness of the customers—or the assumption that she wasn’t British born-and-bred, despite her very English accent. “Would you like me to bag one up?”

“No thanks. We’ll leave it.” The guy shot Aline a smirk. “At least the cashier is pretty.”

“For an Asian,” the other agreed, apparently under the impression that he was paying Aline a compliment. 

Magnus saw Aline stiffen, lips flattening, but she didn’t say anything. Magnus thought of all the times he’d wished someone would intervene, when he was young and working in coffee shops and scared of causing a scene and losing his job, and he took half a step forwards. 

“I think that’s enough,” Magnus said, loudly enough that several people in the queue behind him stopped in their chatter to turn their attention to what was going on at the front of the queue.

The first guy turned around to glare at him. “Back off, mate. It’s our turn.”

Magnus arched an eyebrow, and said cooly, “Are you planning on buying something, or are you just going to abuse the staff?”

“Magnus, it’s fine,” Aline said, sounding worried. 

“No, it’s not,” Magnus told her firmly, not looking away from the two men in front of him.

“Look,” the other guy said, “I don’t know what your problem is, man, but just lay off.”

“My problem? My problem is that you were rude, then you decided to flirt as an attempt to get out of being rude, and then you–” he turned his gaze on the second man and shot him a saccharine, humourless smile “–decided you needed to add in some good old-fashioned British racism.”

The second guy’s smirk dropped away to be replaced by a look of such hatred that the Magnus of fifteen years ago would have feared for his safety. But he wasn’t a lanky sixteen-year-old with excruciating dysphoria and an endless fear of not passing, anymore. He felt confident enough in himself not to care what people said to him, but he very much cared what they said to Aline. 

“We’re not racist,” the first man insisted, setting a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “We were just being nice.”

“Oh, is that what you call it?” Magnus let out a derisive laugh. “ _A crappy little town full of immigrants_?”

“Now, see here—”

But the second guy wasn’t having it. He interrupted his friend, shrugging off his arm, and said, “You would stand up for her, wouldn’t you? You’re all the same. Cry racism at every opportunity, but when it comes down to it, you’ll only defend each other.”

Good fucking good, the pair of them were simply begging for a punch in the face. Inhaling slowly, Magnus glanced over at Aline, who was watching the proceedings with wide eyes.

Just as Magnus was about to open his mouth to inform the two men that they were done, here, he felt someone come up behind him, and a cold, familiar voice said, “Is there a problem, here?”

“These two were just leaving,” Magnus said, and narrowed his eyes when one of the man opened his mouth to protest. “Weren’t you?”

The men looked around, first at Magnus, then at Aline and Alec and the rest of the people in the queue glaring at them, and they seemed to admit defeat. Muttering lowly, they turned away and made their way to the door. Magnus expected them to throw some awful parting comment over their shoulders, but they didn’t; the door shut firmly behind them. 

“Are you alright?” Magnus asked Aline, who had tears shining in her eyes. 

“I’m fine.” She sniffed and shot him a watery smile. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I did. That’s not acceptable behaviour.”

“Thank you,” she said, and then let out a little laugh. “Now, what was it you came in for?”

***

When Clary heard a knock on the door of Rose Cottage, she expected it to be Magnus, back from the village having forgotten his keys. But when she pulled open the door, Callie watching keenly from the kitchen where she was sitting by Isabelle’s feet, she was greeted by the sight of—

“Maureen?” Clary asked, staring at her friend in shock. 

In truth, calling Maureen a friend was probably a stretch: they hadn’t spoken since Clary moved to Stickwick. Even when Clary had been living in London, Maureen had been the kind of friend she went for drinks with after work while avoiding disclosing anything about her personal life. 

“Clary!” Maureen squealed, reaching out to throw her arms around Clary, despite the fact that Clary was fairly sure they’d never hugged before. 

“Uh, hi,” Clary said, patting Maureen awkwardly on the back until she relinquished her grip and Clary could step back. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, well.” Maureen laughed, stepping past Clary and inviting herself in. Robotically, Clary shut the front door and trailed after her. “I heard through the grapevine that you’d moved out to the middle of nowhere, but I had to come and see it for myself.”

“Right.”

“And I wanted to see how you were doing, of course!” Maureen nudged her in the ribs. “You basically disappeared off the face of the Earth. There are rumours that you’ve died. Obviously I laid those to rest as soon as I heard, but you know how gossip spreads...”

Oh, did Clary know. Maureen had been the first - and only - person at work she’d ever directly come out to. The only, because by the end of the week, the entire floor’s worth of people at the office had known.

Maureen was wandering into the kitchen, saying something that Clary didn’t hear over the ringing in her ears. Isabelle was in the kitchen, and Callie, and Maureen didn’t even know that Magnus existed so of course she was going to assume that Clary had gone crazy and moved in with her country girlfriend and adopted a dog, and _oh, fucking hell_.

“Hello,” Isabelle said pleasantly, crossing one long leg over the other as she appraised Maureen with a subtle hint of disdain. In any other situation, the expression would probably have made Clary smile. 

“O-M-G.” Maureen whirled around to face Clary, eyes wide and mouth forming a perfect O of exaggerated shock. “Clary! You’ve got a _girlfriend_!”

Clary forced a smile. “Maureen, this is Isabelle. Isabelle, this is Maureen. We worked together.”

And, oh, Isabelle seemed to clock exactly what that meant. She arched an eyebrow at Clary, lifted her chin slightly, and offered Maureen her hand to shake.

“It’s lovely to meet you,” Isabelle said, eyes saying the exact opposite. “This is Callie, by the way. She’s very well behaved.”

Maureen gasped, dropping Isabelle’s hand to crouch down in front of Callie. Even Callie, who always loved meeting new people, seemed to be watching Maureen with wariness. 

“And you’ve got a dog! Clary, what has happened to you? How many years did we work together? And in all that time I never knew you to have a girlfriend, let alone a dog.”

“She’s just mine,” Clary said, not pointing out that she had, in fact, had a long term relationship during the time Maureen had known her—she just hadn’t told her about it. “Callie. Not Isabelle’s.”

Maureen scoffed. “Still.”

Five minutes later, she’d made Maureen a cup of coffee and reluctantly sat down with her and Isabelle at the kitchen table. Isabelle was making no effort to charm Maureen. Not that Maureen seemed to notice, so interested was she in analysing Clary’s life based on the very limited information she held. 

“You know, Isabelle, when Clary told me she was a lesbian I was so surprised. Normally I can tell, you know? I have great gaydar. But Clary really blindsided me.”

“Did she, now?” Isabelle asked dryly.

“Obviously it’s much easier to tell with guys, and with butch women, you know, it’s pretty obvious. You must have thought the same. She doesn’t really dress gay, right?”

Isabelle looked so stunned that she was having to battle down a laugh. Apparently, Maureen was interpreting it as friendly amusement, because she grinned. Clary wanted to shake her. Or slap her right across her sickeningly oblivious face. 

“I can’t say I was that surprised, really,” Isabelle said.

“How did you two meet?” Maureen asked, glancing between them like they were a display at a museum for her to dissect.

“At a very gay party,” Isabelle said. 

“Oh.” Maureen’s eyes widened a little. “Oh, you mean like a sex thing?”

“No,” Isabelle said, smiling the sort of humourless smile that promised no mercy. “What would make you think that?”

“Iz,” Clary warned her, lowly. 

“No, please.” Isabelle gestured at Maureen. “I’m interested.”

“Don’t answer that,” Clary said quickly. 

But, of course, Maureen, with absolutely no awareness of how awful her line of questioning seemed, ignored her. 

“Well, just because you said it was very gay.” Maureen shrugged. “That usually means a sex thing.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Isabelle replied cheerfully. “Queer people aren’t all sex-mad BDSM lovers.”

“Don’t,” Clary said, not really sure which woman she was talking to, anymore. Both of them. She wanted both of them to stop and she wanted Maureen to leave. She wanted Maureen never to have come; never to have ruined her day with Isabelle.

“So if it wasn’t a sex thing, why was everyone...gay?”

Isabelle shrugged. “Why not?”

“Well...” Maureen looked over at Clary as though expecting her to back her up. “That’s a bit weird, isn’t it? Clary’s friends aren’t all gay.”

“Quite a lot are,” Clary mumbled. Most of her good friends were, at least—of which Maureen was decidedly not. 

“This isn’t some kind of weird cult village, right?” Maureen asked, letting out a slightly nervous laugh as she glanced between Clary and Isabelle. “I mean, I saw _England’s rainbow village_ on the sign when I drove in, but I thought that was, like, happy. Is this, like, some weird gay retreat?”

“A cult?” Isabelle repeated, all pretence of friendliness evaporating from her face as rage flashed in her eyes. “You think that somewhere that celebrates the queer community is a _cult_?”

“Well—”

“Stop!” Clary set her mug down hard on the table. Both women turned to stare at her. “Maureen, look, thank you for coming, but I really think you should go.”

“But...”

“Please,” Clary insisted. “I’m sorry, but–please just go.”

“If you need someone to get you out of here,” Maureen whispered as Clary escorted her to the door, “I can—”

“Of course I don’t,” Clary snapped. “I like it here.”

She slammed the door hard the moment Maureen stepped over the threshold, not waiting another moment, lest she hear something that really made her blood boil. Closing her eyes, she leant back against the door, and let out a long, slow breath, willing her racing heart to calm down.

***

“Those two always were bad news,” Alec said to Magnus as they walked out of the bakery, hand in hand. 

The sun was shining low in the sky, providing a faint layer of warmth over the truly freezing weather. The trees were still, birds chirping as they jumped between bare branches. Stickwick looked postcard-pretty, with its little thatched houses in the distance and its quaint row of independent shops lining the street.

Magnus glanced over at Alec, frowning. “Do you know them?”

“They used to live here. They moved away not long after Izzy and I came here. God knows why they were here.”

“I think they were lost. I don’t think they’re here to stay.”

“Thank god for that.” Alec sighed. “As lovely as Stickwick is, in most ways, it’s not void of any problems.”

“You mean racism?”

“Yeah. I mean, a town advertising itself as being a haven for gay people is going to attract the odd...”

“White Grindr gay?”

Alec’s lips quirked. “That’s a very good way of putting it.”

“It didn’t seem like the townspeople were very impressed.”

“Well, no.” Alec grinned. “Who do you think chased the little fuckers out the first time?”

Magnus snorted. “Yes, I’m sure the full force of Stickwick is very terrifying.”

“You’d be surprised. We protect our own.” He nodded pointedly at Magnus. “Just like you did for Aline, today.”

“Oh, no,” Magnus said warningly, not liking the bright look in Alec’s eyes one bit.

“Admit it.” Alec nudged him lightly. “You’re becoming a true Stickwick resident.”

“I am not.”

“You so are.”

“I’m not!”

“Oh, I think you are.”

Magnus huffed. He absolutely was not. He was a city boy at heart. True Stickwick residents didn’t meet their boyfriends by humiliating themselves on a muddy hill, did they now?

***

“Hey.” 

A gentle hand fell on Clary’s shoulder. She flinched away on instinct. God, she knew it wasn’t Isabelle’s fault, but she couldn’t help feeling a little bit angry. She’d asked Isabelle to stop, but she’d kept talking. Kept goading Maureen when she knew that it would only make her say more awful things. What was the point? To expose her? To humiliate her? It certainly hadn’t been educational. 

And it had made Clary feel worse.

“Isabelle, please, just...” Clary exhaled and looked up at her, not straightening from where she was still leaning against the wall. “I want to be alone.”

Surprise flashed across Isabelle’s face. “What?”

“Look, the way you handled that—”

“She was awful! She was saying awful things about you! What did you want me to do, just sit there?”

“Yes! I asked you to stop, and you just kept going!”

“I couldn’t just let it go, Clary! Are you kidding me? How can you stand to listen to that sort of crap? And from someone who claims to be your friend.”

“Do you think I like it?” Clary demanded, throwing her hands up. “Because I don’t. I hate it. I hate that people think like that. I hate that people can be so wilfully ignorant. Because by the age of thirty, in the middle of London, it is wilful. But I can’t have it be my job to call it out all the time. I tried doing that, and it’s exhausting.”

“So you just let her run her mouth? Let her call Stickwick a cult? Tell you that you don’t dress gay enough?” Isabelle let out a derisive laugh and folded her arms. “I’m sorry. You might be able to sit and listen to that without saying anything, but I can’t.”

“You want to educate her? Fine. Be my guest. But that wasn’t education, that was humiliation.”

Isabelle snorted. “Yeah. She seemed really humiliated.”

“You would have kept going! She doesn’t understand that what she’s saying it hurtful because she’s never bothered to learn, so making snide comments isn’t going to help!”

“It made me feel better.”

“Yes,” Clary snapped. “Yes, but it made _me_ feel like crap. So please, Isabelle, just go.”

Isabelle started shaking her head. “Clary—”

“No, don’t. Go. Before I start saying things I’ll regret.”

For a long, hard moment, Isabelle stood staring at her, tense all over. Her jaw flexed and her nostrils flared, and then, with a short, harsh exhale, she dropped her arms from across her chest and brushed past Clary to reach for the front door. 

“Fine,” Isabelle said. “Fine. I’m leaving.” She paused with the door open, and tilted her head slightly back towards Clary, but didn’t meet her gaze, instead keeping her eyes focused straight ahead. “It’s sad that you feel you can’t stand up for yourself in front of people like her.”

The door slammed so hard behind her that the glass in the windowpane at the top rattled. Clary slid down the wall to the floor, buried her face in her hands, and cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops. Sorry.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clary rages quietly, Magnus is invited to a family dinner, and Max proclaims his siblings “weak”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: mutual support

“You’re going to have to talk to her eventually, you know.”

Clary scowled at Magnus as she slammed the passenger door of his car, now equipped with winter tyres to prevent near-death experiences on the icy countryside roads. In the distance, Isabelle was gazing at Magnus’ car forlornly. Obviously, Magnus’ allegiance was to Clary, but he felt a little sorry for her. Clary had taken one look at her and fled.

“No, I’m not,” Clary snapped.

“She clearly wants to talk to you.”

“I don’t care.”

Magnus fixed her with a doubtful look. “Yes, that’s why you sprinted back to the car the second you saw her.”

“Why is she hanging around the school, anyway?” Clary muttered. “She knows I work here.”

Magnus just looked at her. If Clary couldn’t work that one out for herself, then Magnus would never be of any help to her. She was a lost cause. 

“Shut up,” Clary told him. “I don’t want to hear logic, I just want to wallow in my feelings.”

“I’m saying this because I love you,” Magnus said, putting the car into gear and indicating to join the slow-moving traffic on the road. Slow-moving not because it was busy, but because everything in Stickwick went at a snail’s pace. “But isn’t it Maureen you should really be angry with? I get that Isabelle didn’t help the situation, but...”

“I don’t care about Maureen. Why would I waste my energy on being angry with her for more than five minutes? It’s just—” She exhaled in clear frustration, shoulders slumping. “This lovely little town is not like most of the world. In most of the world, people like Maureen exist and are completely oblivious to the fact that what they’re saying is awful. And you can’t live your life educating them all, and you certainly can’t sit there and try to humiliate them all.”

“You know that the reason Isabelle couldn’t sit there and listen to it is because she cares about you, right?”

“Yeah.” Clary turned her head to look out of the window, hiding her face from Magnus’ peripheries. “Yeah, I know.”

***

When Magnus got off the phone with Alec, that evening, he looked a little pale. Clary raised her eyebrows in question.

“Alec’s mother is coming to visit.”

“Oh.” Clary grimaced. From what Isabelle had told her, that wouldn’t really be a cause for celebration. “When?”

“Tomorrow. And Alec would like me to meet her.”

Ah. Now that made more sense. Clary hadn’t wanted to point it out, lest it send Magnus into one of his downward spirals of existentialism, but their departure date was drawing steadily closer, and Stickwick wasn’t exactly close to London. Even a weekend trip would seem a bit pointless, with the hours of driving required. And, so far as Clary was aware, Magnus hadn’t acknowledged the fact that they were supposed to be leaving. She didn’t know if he was even really aware of it.

Meeting Alec’s mother was a long-term relationship sort of milestone. Magnus and Clary weren’t here for long-term relationships. They couldn’t be, unless they wanted a long-distance one, too.

“Well, are you going?” Clary asked.

“I think he’s only asking me for emotional support,” Magnus said, sounding like he was trying to convince himself. “Isabelle and Max will be there, but he thinks his mother will be better behaved if there’s a stranger to impress.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be impressing her in this scenario?”

“That’s not helpful, Fray.” He let out a moan of despair. “This is not a meet-the-parents relationship!”

“Oh? What is it, then?”

And, just as Clary predicted, Magnus opened his mouth, frowned, and said, “I don’t know.”

“Mmm.” Clary folded her hands together. “What are you planning on doing at the end of March, exactly?”

Magnus pulled a face. “What do you mean? I’m moving back to London and starting the search for a job that kills me less. Maybe I’ll even have finished a draft of this bloody novel by then.”

Clary forced herself not to sigh. For an exceedingly intelligent man who’d attended one of the best universities in the world, he really was quite dim, sometimes. Never had she seen Magnus more relaxed than he was in Stickwick, despite his supposed hatred of the countryside. But, apparently, he didn’t notice that. 

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Clary told him, rather than dredge all that up when he was already stressed. “It’s only dinner, right?”

“Yeah.” Magnus shot her a smile that rather looked like he‘d just been told that he was to be trialled for witchcraft by drowning. “It’s only dinner.”

***

For the first time in all the months Magnus had known him, Alec Lightwood looked really, truly stressed. Isabelle answered the door to his house when Magnus rung the bell, and informed him that she and Max had been banned from the kitchen in light of their appalling culinary skills.

Magnus walked into the kitchen hesitantly, having handed Isabelle the bottle of wine he’d bought over, and stuck his head around the door. It looked a little like a bomb made of half-cooked food, cornflour and obscure kitchen utensils had exploded. The white marble island top, which Alec always kept meticulously clean, was so covered in crap that Magnus wouldn’t have been able to identify that it was white if he hadn’t known. 

“Hi,” Magnus said, not daring to walk in without invitation. “Are you okay? Do you need any help?”

Alec shook his head, darting around the island to start chopping some of the vegetables he’d laid out in a haphazard manner. “No, no, I’m fine, everything’s fine.”

“Something on the stove is boiling over.”

“Fuck!” 

Alec dropped the knife and rushed over, yanking the lid off the saucepan and turning the heat down hurriedly. He poked at whatever was in there with a fork, peered at it dubiously, and left it to return to his chopping. 

“Darling, are you sure you don’t want some help? I won’t interfere, but this seems a little much for one person to manage.”

Alec shot him a wry smile. “My mother is very meticulous. She likes to think that she’s taught her children valuable life skills, like cooking, even though she did no such thing.”

“Well.” Magnus unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and began to roll up the sleeves. “I’ll help. I can be very meticulous too.”

“Not usually about cooking.”

“Not usually,” Magnus agreed, coming up behind him and taking the knife from Alec before he had a chance to protest. “For you, I can be tonight.”

A breath left Alec in a long, drawn-out sigh. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He turned his head to press a kiss to Alec’s cheek. “And hello.”

“Hello,” Alec said, smiling. “You look nice, by the way.”

“Nice?” Magnus quirked an eyebrow. “Maybe I should go home and change...”

Alec pressed his chest to Magnus’ back and tilted his head to whisper low in his ear: “You look stunning, but if we go down that route, dinner is just going to burn.”

Magnus shivered at the sensation of hot breath washing across his skin. He felt Alec’s smirk as he pressed a fleeting kiss to his neck. That was what he got for playing with fire, he supposed. 

And, oh, teasing Alec was _definitely_ like playing with fire. Magnus loved it. 

“What time is your mother coming?” Magnus asked, as Alec stepped away and went over to look at whatever he had in the oven. “Two carrots or three?”

“Three. She’s coming at seven. She was on a work trip and apparently Stickwick is more or less on her way home, so she thought she’d drop in.” Alec let out a short laugh. “Izzy and Max and I were placing bets on what big news she’s got this time. My mother does not _drop in_.”

Magnus hesitated, pausing in his chopping, and said, “Are you sure I should be here? It sounds very familial, and you and I haven’t known each other for long, in the grand scheme of things.”

“That’s true,” Alec agreed, “but I want you here.” He slid something else into the oven, and, with his back to Magnus, continued, “It’s been a while since I’ve had a real relationship. Stickwick is a small town, and a lot of the people here are already attached, and I don’t exactly have a lot of time for socialising, with my job.” He turned to look at Magnus with those painfully earnest eyes of his that rendered Magnus helpless. “You’re important to me.”

Oh, the things Magnus would do for that face.

The thought scared him a little. He couldn’t help thinking of Clary’s words, earlier, about what he was doing at the end of March. He was leaving. Going back to London and leaving Stickwick in his rear-view mirror. Yet, he was in a relationship with a good, kind man, letting him say all these lovely things, when he knew damn well that he was going to break his heart, sooner or later. 

God, what was he doing? He always was a sucker for pretty men, and Alec— He liked Alec. He liked him so fucking much. He made Magnus feel warm and safe, made him laugh and groan in despair, gave him butterflies and that beautiful ache right where his heart sat when he said things like—

Well. Like that. Like _you’re important to me_. 

“Are you sure?” Magnus asked again, softly. 

Alec nodded. “I’m sure.”

***

Eventually, once most of the cooking was out of the way, Max was permitted to enter to kitchen to finish everything up, so that Alec could inspect Isabelle’s setting of the table and reach the wine glasses that he kept on a shelf so high that no human being could possibly reach them. Except Alec, apparently, who stretched right up on his toes to bring them down, exposing a tantalising strip of skin between his waistband and shirt. Magnus’ eyes drifted down, lingering on the trail of hair that led into his jeans, and he pursed his lips, thinking of some of the more pleasant evenings he’d had with Alec.

“You’re so not subtle,” Isabelle whispered as she passed him. Magnus glared at her. She blew him a kiss. “How’s Clary?”

Magnus raised an eyebrow at her. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know. She won’t speak to me. That’s why I’m asking you.”

“She’s still angry,” Magnus said, taking pity on Isabelle. She was clearly trying to seem nonchalant, laying out placements as she inquired about her girlfriend, but the sadness in her eyes spoke volumes. 

“I didn’t mean to upset her,” Isabelle murmured, casting her eyes downwards. 

“I know.” Magnus smiled gently. “When she calms down, I think she’ll realise that, too. It takes Clary a while to cool off. She’s got a bit of a fiery temper.”

“Yeah.” Isabelle’s lips quirked. “I’ve noticed.”

“Give it time,” Magnus said, patting her consolingly on the shoulder. “She’ll let you talk to her eventually. But don’t expect immediate forgiveness.”

“I’m very good at grovelling,” Isabelle said, flashing Magnus a weak grin. “Although I will only grovel for women. I grovel for no man. My hatred for the patriarchy forbids it.”

“Quite right,” Magnus told her.

The doorbell rang. Alec froze where he was placing the final wine glass in place on the table, and turned his gaze on Isabelle, who looked similarly somber.

“You’re all weak!” they heard Max shout from the kitchen. “I’ll get it!”

Alec shook his head, frowning. “I am not weak.”

“Of course not,” Magnus assured him, and squeezed a bicep pointedly. “See?”

Alec’s frown only deepened. Magnus swallowed a laugh. 

Maryse Lightwood didn’t look much like any of her children, in Magnus’ opinion. From what Alec and Isabelle had described, he’d expected a stern, severe-looking woman, perhaps with her hair in a bun and wearing a blazer and pencil skirt to see her children, but the reality was entirely different. She was smiling as she came into the room, one arm around Max, despite the many inches he had in her. Her hair was down, dress chic but casual, and she was, Magnus thought, really quite pretty.

Which made sense, really, considering how ridiculously good-looking her children were.

“Alec,” Maryse said, letting go of Max to give Alec a hug. She stretched out her other arm towards Isabelle, smiling broadly, and beckoned her over. “And Isabelle.”

Magnus glanced over at Max as the three embraced, and raised a questioning eyebrow. Max pulled out his phone, and, a moment later, Magnus’ felt a vibration in his pocket.

**[Max Lightwood, 19:01]**

**She’s not always like this. Lucky for you that she is, though. Sometimes she’s out to get us.**

Magnus shot him a sympathetic smile.

“Mum,” Alec said, when the three disentangled themselves from each other, “this is Magnus.”

“The boyfriend.” Maryse turned her smile on Magnus, who tried his best not to look too alarmed at the way she was clearly aiming for a hug. “It’s wonderful to meet you.”

“Aha.” Magnus shot Max a terrified look as he was enveloped by Maryse. Max smirked, like the treacherous little arse he was. “It’s lovely to meet you too.”

Maryse beamed as she pulled back, and surveyed them all with pride shining in her eyes. “I’m so glad I could see you all together.”

“Would you like a drink?” Isabelle asked, already picking up a corkscrew and reaching for the wine set in the middle of the table. “Red or red?”

“Red it is.” Maryse turned to Magnus. “So, Magnus, you’re new to Stickwick?”

“I moved in October,” he said, accepting a glass of wine from Isabelle with a feeling of great relief. “Escape from the city, and all that.”

“Ah, yes.” Maryse shot her children a pointed look. “These three have all done the same thing, despite what they’ll have you think.”

“So I’ve discovered.”

“So how did you two meet?”

From across the room, Alec shot Magnus a smirk, and dread pooled in Magnus’ stomach. God, Maryse had only met him five minutes ago, and she was about to hear the tale of his humiliation. The world was so very unfair. He should have planned an alternative story with Alec ahead of time to preserve his dignity.

“I was being neighbourly,” Alec said. He took a sip of his wine. Magnus held his breath as he waited for the killing blow. “You would have been very approving.”

Maryse glanced between them, and shook her head, amusement tugging at her lips. “Do I want to know what that means?”

Alec held Magnus’ gaze for a long, torturous moments, and then, to Magnus’ relief, shook his head. “It wasn’t really that exciting. I gave Magnus a hand adjusting to the countryside. He lives right down the hill.”

Maryse soon turned her attention to Isabelle and Max, giving Magnus an opportunity to slip over to Alec and steal a brief kiss. 

“Thank you for preserving my dignity,” Magnus whispered.

Alec smiled, looping an arm around his waist. “That story can stay between us. And Clary.”

“And the half of Stickwick’s population that seem to know.”

“Small town,” Alec said, shrugging. The slight twitch at the corners of his lips was the only thing that gave him away. “Gossip spreads like wildfire.”

Magnus narrowed his eyes. “Uh huh.”

“I have no idea what you’re insinuating,” Alec told him, like the shameless liar he was. “Come on. Let’s bring dinner out before she gets too drunk. That is a sight you do not want to see, however good a mood she’s in. She’ll start bringing out baby photos before you know it.”

“Oh, god.” Magnus shuddered. “No offence, I’m sure you were a lovely baby, but I despise baby photos.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Babies,” Magnus repeated emphatically. “Ugh. Enormously overrated. Children? Hilarious. Adorable. I love them. Babies? No.”

“Don’t tell my mother that,” Alec said, chuckling. “She loves babies. I suppose that’s how I was unlucky enough to end up with two siblings. I’m lucky I didn’t end up with ten.” 

“She was put off when she realised that they grow up into demonic little kids.”

“Probab— Hey!” Alec frowned, affronted. “I’m the oldest. What are you implying, there?”

“Nothing.” Magnus tipped his chin up to kiss the tip of Alec’s nose. “Nothing at all, darling.”

***

To everyone’s relief, the rest of the evening passed without incident, save for when Maryse asked Isabelle about the girl she’d mentioned at Christmas and Isabelle had to plaster a cheery look onto her face, while everyone else cringed into their dinner. At half past eleven, Alec showed Maryse up to the guest room, and Isabelle, Magnus and Max set about clearing things up. 

Isabelle and Max bid Alec and Magnus goodbye at the door, Max assuring Alec that he’d only had two glasses of wine with dinner, hours ago, so yes, he was fine to drive, and no, Alec didn’t need to worry incessantly because he was an adult who could look after himself. Magnus hid his smile at that one.

“I should be heading back too,” Magnus said, leaning against the doorframe as they watched the car turn the corner and drive off into the distance. “It’s late. You’re supposed to be working tomorrow.”

“Or you could stay,” Alec suggested. “If you’d like to.”

Surprised, Magnus turned to look at him, and found Alec watching him with liquid-soft eyes and a tenderness that made Magnus’ heart ache. 

“Are you sure?”

God, he hoped Alec was sure. He’d only spent the night a handful of times, and, despite Alec’s snuffling snores when he got close to waking up, the sensation of waking up next to him in the morning had been so blissful it was worth it.

“It is dark,” Alec said, and jerked his head at the hill. “Mud. Rabbit holes. All manner of horrible country hazards.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Magnus said, shoving Alec’s shoulder lightly. Alec laughed, bright and easy, and Magnus found himself smiling back. God, he was gone on this man. So horribly, terribly gone. 

“Shut the door,” Alec said, and extended a hand towards Magnus. “I don’t know about you, but I’m very ready to sleep.”

Magnus slid his fingers through Alec’s and squeezed. “Me too.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus gets a late-night call and Clary gets a surprise visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: late-night calls

When Magnus answered a phone call from Ragnor not long before midnight, he half-expected there to be some sort of emergency. Ragnor always went to bed by eleven, even at the weekend. At university, he would join everyone for drinks and then go home while everyone else hit the club. Not that anybody minded - they were usually too drunk by that point to notice him catch a cab home, anyway - but it had caused some arguments during the years when Magnus and Ragnor had been living together, and Magnus would come home late, tipsy, making enough noise to wake Ragnor up. 

“I have a question,” Ragnor said when the line connected, rather than saying _hello_ , like a normal person. 

“What kind of question?” Magnus asked, immediately suspicious. “I’m in my pyjamas and was mentally preparing to spend tomorrow morning with a room full of people all over the age of eighty who have never heard of Facebook, so my capacity for answering difficult questions is limited.”

“Someone at work asked about you today. Nobody I’d ever heard of, but they certainly knew about you.”

Dread pooled in Magnus’ stomach. “What did they know?”

“Nothing nefarious. But they were quoting your work at me as though it was supposed to mean anything to me.”

“A headhunter,” Magnus guessed, already seeing where this conversation was going. “I did contact a few before I had my...moment. I was thinking about going to work somewhere else.”

In truth, he’d been chasing companies that didn’t have a habit of awarding their employees of colour smaller bonuses than their white counterparts, but it was difficult to tell without getting an inside view. It wasn’t like companies published that sort of crap. 

“Yes,” Ragnor confirmed. “They’ve found a job they think you’ll be an excellent fit for, but they informed me that you weren’t answering emails or your phone. I said I would inquire. I then spent all day debating whether that was a good idea, but I decided that you should have all the facts.”

Magnus exhaled. “A headhunter finding a job doesn’t mean I have one. I’d still need to interview, and—”

“If they’ve found you one, there’ll be more,” Ragnor said shortly. “This country is in a world of shit, and lawyers are just about the only people doing alright. Companies are all begging for someone who can explain the Brexit kerfuffle to them.”

“Yes, I _know_ ,” Magnus said, slightly annoyed by Ragnor - the _accountant_ \- explaining his own profession to him. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Well, I know you cut off all contact from work, but that was months ago. You’re due back in a month. It seemed like an important thing for you to know.”

“It’s not a month,” Magnus said, letting out a laugh. “We’ve got—”

Oh. No. No, surely not?

Panicking, Magnus counted the days again in his head to be sure, heart thundering in his ears. Fuck. Ragnor was right. He had just less than four weeks until their tenancy agreement ended and they were due to leave Rose Cottage. And, by extension, leave Stickwick. 

Leave Stickwick. Leave Raphael and Simon and Meliorn and Isabelle and—

And Alec.

Oh, god. Why didn’t he have any time? How had the date snuck up on him so fast?

“Don’t start spiralling,” Ragnor said sharply. “Talk. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Everything!” Magnus sat up straight in bed and waved an arm, almost knocking a full glass of water off his beside table. “How can I be expected to go back to the real world? I’ve had a six month holiday, I can’t just—”

Ragnor interrupted him gently. “Do you want to stay?”

Magnus froze. Stay? Stay in Stickwick? He couldn’t. He couldn’t leave London, leave his friends and his flat and his life just to move to some tiny little countryside village that didn’t even have a bloody Pret. Everything he knew and loved was in London. The jobs with the big salaries and the huge corporate ladders to climb were in London. How could he abandon all that for Stickwick? What would he even do in Stickwick?

“No.” Magnus let out a derisive laugh. It sounded a little hysterical. “Of course I don’t want to stay.”

“Has your holiday been that awful?” Ragnor asked dryly. “I thought it looked like a lovely little place.”

“It is. It’s been nice. But it’s a holiday. It’s not real life.”

“It’s been your real life for six months,” Ragnor pointed out, echoing so closely what Alec had said, what felt like a long time ago. “You don’t have to jump back in where you left off, you know. You can change direction. You’re allowed to.”

“Maybe I’ll stop working sixty hour weeks,” Magnus agreed. “And I won’t download any dating apps.”

“That does seem like best practice, when you’re in a relationship.”

Magnus stiffened. “Alexander knows I’m leaving. He’s always known that. And I told him when we got together that I didn’t have anything much to offer him. He’s knows I’m a mess.”

“But you’re still in a relationship with him.” Ragnor’s voice softened. “Every time I speak to you, you seem happy. Much happier than you’ve been for years. And I haven’t heard you this relaxed since we were at university.”

Magnus scoffed. “I was never relaxed at university.”

“Stop deflecting,” Ragnor said sharply. “Whether you stay or come back to London or do something else is your choice. But it is a _choice_ , Magnus. You don’t have to do anything. You’re under no obligation to anyone to do anything.”

And, well, wasn’t that the issue? How could he possibly choose between fantasy and reality?

***

It was raining when someone started hammering on their front door. Callie perked up and barked once, as though the incessant banging wasn’t enough of an indicator that someone really, really wanted to come in. Grumbling to herself, Clary told Callie to sit and went to open the door.

She didn’t expect to see Isabelle standing outside. Rain slicked her hair to her scalp and droplets clung to her eyelashes, rolling off like years every time she blinked. Her clothes were soaked through, but she didn’t seem to feel the near-freezing temperature.

“Isabelle, what the _fuck_ —”

“I can’t stand this,” Isabelle said, shaking her head and gazing at Clary with wide, pleading eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. The way I handled your friend was immature. I was angry and I wanted to defend you but I stopped listening to you and I’m _sorry_.”

Clary felt her expression soften. “Iz—”

“I love you.” Isabelle shot her a tight, sad smile. “I know you’re not there yet, and it’s okay, but I love you, Clary, and I’m so sorry that I upset you, and I need you to know that I want to make it better. Whatever you need.”

“Isabelle.” Clary shook her head, returning Isabelle’s smile with something more hopeful. “Do you realise that it’s pouring with rain?”

“Is it?” Isabelle shrugged. “All I know is that I haven’t spoken to my girlfriend for two weeks and it’s killing me.”

“I forgave you days ago,” Clary told her. “I’m not– Clear-headed communication isn’t always my strong suit. I get angry and then I rage and then I’m embarrassed by how ridiculous I was being. But I’ll work on it.”

Isabelle hesitated. “Does that mean—?”

Clary stepped out into the rain to cup Isabelle’s rain-soaked cheeks in her hands. She held her gaze for a long, charged moment, as rain pelted down on them both, slowly drenching Clary through, until she, too, was a wet, soggy mess.

“I can’t believe we’re about to have a cheesy romance movie moment,” Clary murmured, and kissed her. 

Hands found her hips, and then arms were wrapping snugly around her waist, drawing her closer and pressing their bodies together. Clary gasped, hardly able to breathe while kissing in such heavy rain, and, really, why did romance movies never point out that little snag?

They broke apart, and Isabelle smoothed her hands down Clary’s face, pushed back rain-slick hair as she went. Heart aching, Clary leant into the touch, eyelashes fluttering at the sensation of Isabelle’s skin on hers after what felt like so long.

“Maybe we should go inside,” Isabelle murmured. 

“I love you too.”

Isabelle’s lips parted. “You do?”

Clary smiled. “You know I do. And—there’s something else I should tell you. But inside. When we’re less wet.”

Isabelle smiled brilliantly and nodded. “Okay.”

Clary grasped her hand tight in hers, their fingers fitting together easily.

***

Once they were showered and each holding a steaming mug of tea, curled up in Clary’s bed with their knees pressed together as they sat facing each other, Clary broached the topic that she’d been avoiding for weeks. 

“The school offered me a job,” she said, trailing her fingertip along Isabelle’s forearm in random, swirling patterns. “Full time. Starting September. I said I’d think about it.”

Isabelle watched her intently. “And have you?”

“I want to take it.” 

Clary let her gaze flicker up to meet Isabelle’s. She wasn’t nervous about her decision, but she couldn’t help feeling anxious about Isabelle’s reaction. But that had been the deciding factor, really: even if Isabelle hated the idea, Clary still wanted to stay. Even if, for some inexplicable reason, they broke up tomorrow, Clary wanted to stay. She liked Stickwick. She liked the lifestyle. She liked the freedom to be herself, without busybodies like Maureen asking her questions that made her want to - metaphorically - jump off the nearest high-rise.

“You do?” Isabelle’s eyebrows shot up. “You want to stay here? For how long?”

“A while,” Clary said. “I don’t know, really. But living here... I’ve enjoyed it. I don’t know that I want to teach for my whole life, but it’s been nice. The thought of going back to London just makes me want to press pause on time so that I never have to.”

“It’s not this, right?” Isabelle gestured between them with the hand not cradling her tea. “Because I don’t want to be the thing holding you back. We could make it work.”

Clary smiled at Isabelle’s optimism, but she shook her head. “It’s not just because of this, although obviously you’re a contributing factor. I was talking to my mum, and I realised that even without us, I’d still want to stay. This is just a bonus.”

“Huh.” Isabelle grinned. “I quite like being the bonus, you know.”

Clary rolled her eyes fondly. “Of course you do.”

“So you’re really gonna stay? You’re not going back to London at the end of March?”

“I’ll have to go back to formally resign and sort out my flat and see my family, because I haven’t seen the, since Christmas, but yes. Yes, I’m really staying.”

The smile that split Isabelle’s face was so bright it almost hurt to look at. Carefully, Isabelle leant over their hot mugs of tea and pressed a warm, sweet kiss to Clary’s lips. Clary could practically taste Isabelle’s happiness. 

“Hey.” Isabelle pulled back abruptly. “What about Magnus?”

The smile on Clary’s face morphed into something tinged with sadness, and she shook her head. “I don’t think Magnus will stay. He loves the city too much.”

“I thought his job was killing him?”

“It was. But I think he’d feel restricted by this place, if he lived here long-term.”

“He needs space to spread his wings?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Well.” Isabelle took a sip of her tea and tucked a damp lock of hair behind her ear, exposing the elegant, unblemished column of her neck for Clary to admire. “I’ll miss him. And I know Alec will. But it’s a little overshadowed by how happy I am that you’re staying.”

“Yeah. You know, me too.”

Clary inhaled deeply, and Stickwick’s oxygen tasted like freedom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One step forward two steps back? Or something?
> 
> Thank you so much for all your lovely comments on this silly fic <3


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: identity crisis

In his five months in Stickwick, Magnus had never actually been to Raphael and Simon’s house. While Simon was one of the most open, chatty people Magnus had ever met, Raphael was decidedly not. Simon respected Raphael’s boundaries without making a big deal out of it, and that included not entertaining large groups of people in their home. 

But, when Magnus had stopped by the Simon’s café to ask - or, rather, beg - Simon and Raphael to help him solve his life choices, he’d had a text minutes later from Raphael informing him that they would expect him for dinner at seven o’clock.

At two minutes past seven, Magnus was standing in Simon and Raphael’s kitchen, a glass of wine in hand, while Raphael gently slapped Simon’s hand away when he tried to help with the cooking. Simon pouted; Raphael rolled his eyes, but pressed a fleeting kiss to his temple in silent apology. Simon brightened immediately. 

It made Magnus think of Alec. Alec, who he was about to leave behind. Who he _had_ to leave behind.

Alec hadn’t mentioned it. He had to know that Magnus and Clary’s departure date was looming, now only two weeks away, but he hadn’t brought it up. In fact, he was acting like everything was completely normal. Magnus wished Alec would at least allude to it, because, god, Magnus didn’t have the courage to start that conversation. It would go south fast, and he despised conflict. 

Maybe Alec truly didn’t care. Maybe he’d understood Magnus’ warning, at the beginning. Maybe he was far more mature than Magnus was giving him credit for, and didn’t want to make a fuss over something they’d always both known was coming. 

“Oh, dear,” Simon said, snapping Magnus from his thoughts. When he looked up, Simon and Raphael were both watching him with pity. “He really has got it bad.”

Magnus frowned. “Got what bad?”

“City compulsivity,” Raphael said. At some point, he’d taken a dish out of the oven and spooned whatever he’d been frying into a bowl. Magnus hadn’t even noticed.

“City what now?”

“City compulsivity,” Simon supplied. “The illogical, compulsive need to return to the terrors of the city, despite logic suggesting that another path would be the better choice.”

“No.” Magnus shook his head. “Logic is what’s telling me that I have to go back to London. There would be no logic in staying here.”

“Don’t argue the semantics,” Raphael advised him. “He always wins this argument because I am his shining example.”

“Exactly!” Simon gestured emphatically at Raphael, as though he was an eighties TV presenter showing off his glamorous assistant. “Raphael managed to kick his city addiction, and he’s much happier for it. Aren’t you?”

Raphael raised his eyebrows. “Well I’m not going to tell you no, am I?”

Simon glared at him. “You are not being helpful.”

A smile flashed through Raphael’s eyes, quickly dissipating as he turned his gaze back to Magnus. “He’s not wrong. I still commute into the city for work. Albeit it’s not London, and the work life is completely different, but it lets me live here. Just because you live somewhere like this doesn’t mean you have to fit yourself entirely into one village. You can spread out more than that.”

Magnus was doubtful. As Raphael had so eloquently said, no city within commuting distance of Stickwick was anything like London. There weren’t any high-powered, big-name firms out here. At least, only the little branches. Head Office was where Magnus needed to be. That was where the gains were made.

“Have some more wine,” Simon said, picking up the bottle and refilling Magnus’ glass before he could protest. “I’m pretty sure Raphael was drunk when I convinced him to stay here.”

“I was not drunk.”

“On love?” Simon suggested, innocently. Raphael rolled his eyes so hard Magnus was stunned he didn’t give himself a headache. 

The topic was dropped for a few minutes, while Raphael served up dinner and Simon set the table, and the pair of them refused to let Magnus lift so much as a finger to help. It was a little disconcerting, but it was also nice to know that he’d made friends in Stickwick who truly cared about him. 

“It can’t be as fulfilling,” Magnus said, after they’d started eating. “Working out here compared to working in London.”

“It depends on what you want.” Raphael set his fork down and pinned Magnus with an unwavering gaze. “It’s not as fast-paced. Not as insane. And if you thrive off that, off of those insane hours and high pressure situations, then no, it’s probably not what you’re looking for. But it’s not unfulfilling. I wouldn’t have stayed here it I found it boring, no matter how much I love Simon.”

“Aw, thanks so much, babe,” Simon said, with faux cheer. “I love you too.”

Raphael shot him a glance caught halfway between amusement and exasperation, before turning back to Magnus. “Life is just different out here. Some people love it. Some people would die out here.”

“I...” Magnus exhaled. “I really think I might die out here.”

“Why? Because of work?”

“Partly. Everything. Everything is so small. There’s a limited pool of people. There’s one café, one pub, and you have to drive twenty minutes to get to a gym.”

“Fifteen,” Simon said, with a shrug. “Google says twenty. It only takes fifteen if you don’t meet a tractor on the way.”

Magnus turned incredulous eyes on him, and waved a hand erratically. “See? See? This is exactly what I mean! That’s why I can’t stay here!”

“Magnus,” Raphael said, voice taking on an unusually soft quality, “if you’re so sure that you want to go back to London, why are we having an intervention?”

“I—”

Magnus looked between them a little helplessly, and found that he didn’t know what to say. Why were they having an intervention? Why, despite all the many reasons he had - and had always had - for going back home, did he feel so desperately unsettled by it all?

“I don’t know.” He exhaled slowly. “I just– I know I don’t want to stay, but I want to feel fine about leaving.”

“Is this about Alec?” Simon asked gently. 

“Maybe. I don’t know. Yes, but we’ve always known that this is where our relationship was heading. It’s not news.”

“It’s still hard. It’s allowed to be hard. You don’t have to be magically okay with leaving someone you love.”

Magnus scoffed. “Alec and I aren’t _in love_. We’re just dating.”

“Uh-huh.” Simon looked unconvinced. “That’s totally why you’re having an identity crisis.”

“I am not having an identity crisis!”

“Yeah, you are. But it’s okay.”

“I’m probably just nervous about going back to everything,” Magnus said. “Getting back into work after six months out.”

“Mmm.”

Raphael set a hand on Simon’s forearm and shot him a warning glance. “Magnus, if this, what you’re feeling, is all about Alec, then you’re doing the right thing. You can’t force yourself into a life you hate for one person. But if it’s not all about him...”

“What else would it be about?”

Raphael raised his eyebrows. “I don’t know. But you do.”

***

“I’m staying.”

Magnus blinked at Clary as he stepped over the threshold and shut the front door behind him. He tugged off his coat and hung it up on the hook, kicked off his boots, and reached down to greet Callie, whose tail was wagging so fast it looked like a blur. Clary twisted her hands nervously, waiting for his reaction. 

“You’re staying,” Magnus repeated. “Clarissa, what are you talking about?”

“I’m not going back to London. I mean, I _am_ , but only to sort my shit out. I’m coming back here. I’m not going back to my stupid job or my tiny flat that costs a fortune.”

The more she listed things off, the more convinced she was that this was the right decision. Isabelle had made her draw up a pros and cons list, just to assuage any fears she had that Clary was choosing to stay for the wrong reasons; Clary had come up with plenty of cons of staying in Stickwick - like the fact that the nearest Starbucks was half an hour away - but they were all minor irritants in comparison to the pros. 

“This isn’t—”

Clary interrupted him impatiently, folding her arms across her chest. “No, it’s not just because of Isabelle, yes, I’ve thought about it, yes, I’ve listened to my mother cry on the phone about how far away I’ll be, no, Luke had no objections once he heard my reasons. Anything else?”

Magnus stared at her like she’d sprouted a head. “You’re taking the job at the school?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have somewhere to live?”

“There’s a place up for rent down near the church, in the village.”

“You’ve really thought this through.”

Clary felt her face twitch with slight irritation at the tone of surprise in Magnus’ voice. “Of course I have.”

“Well.” Magnus offered her a smile. It looked a little sad. “I’ll miss you. But I’m glad you’ve found a place you’re happy in.”

Clary’s entire body softened. “I’ll miss you too, Magnus.”

He reached out to wrap her in a hug, and Clary held on tight, screwing her eyes shut. She knew that she wanted to stay, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t feeling a little sad about some of the people she would have to leave behind. 

***

Four days before Magnus was due to leave Stickwick, Alec invited him for dinner. Magnus knew, as soon as he saw Alec’s text, that it was a goodbye. They were going to have a nice dinner, and maybe they’d have sex, and Alec would romance him and tell him beautiful things, and then they would say goodbye, and put an end to what was, in a horrific stroke of irony, one of the best relationships Magnus had ever had. 

Alec greeted him at the door as though nothing unusual was going on. He kissed his cheek and then his lips, tugged him in by the hand when Magnus hesitated on the doorstep, offered him a drink and told him what he’d cooked for dinner. Magnus could hardly breathe. He was sure Alec could tell - the man was infuriatingly perceptive - but he didn’t say a word.

Not until, with a single candle flickering on the table between them, plates cleared and wine glasses almost empty, Alec reached across to grasp Magnus’ hand in both of his. Gaze fixed on their entwined fingers, he pulled in a long, deep breath. Magnus’ heart hammered against his ribcage in terrified anticipation. 

“I know what we said,” Alec said at last, voice soft. He didn’t look up at Magnus as he spoke. “I know what you said. I know that I have no right to expect anything of you. We both knew from the beginning that this relationship had an expiry date. You’re going back to London, and that’s it.”

“Alexander...”

Alec’s eyes met his with breath-taking intensity. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“Alec—”

“I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t say anything, I know it’s your life and your career and all the people you love, but–” he squeezed Magnus’ hand “–I couldn’t let you go without telling you.”

“I can’t stay here,” Magnus told him, covering Alec’s hands with the one of his not clutched in Alec’s grasp. “This has been a lovely break from reality, but at some point, I do have to return to the real world.”

“But that’s...” Alec let out a huff of a laugh. He pulled his hands out from where they were tangled with Magnus’. “I don’t think you really realise that this _is_ your real life. I know it’s nothing like what you’re used to, but it is real.”

“You know what I mean. I don’t have a job here. My only income is from sub-letting my flat. This lifestyle isn’t for me.”

“And is London really the lifestyle for you?” Alec raised an eyebrow. “We both know what London is like.”

“I like the London lifestyle. I like the fast pace and the pressure and the opportunities. We’re not the same, Alec. You’re a doctor. Everywhere needs doctors.”

“Everywhere needs lawyers!”

“Not in the same way. The jobs aren’t the same. I don’t want a job here.”

“Okay, okay, but—” Alec exhaled through his nose, lips folded into a tight line. “ _Why_?”

“I just told you why!”

Alec threw his hands up. “The London lifestyle took such a toll on you that you needed a six month break to somewhere in the middle of nowhere! Is that really enjoying the lifestyle?”

“That was my job, not London. I’ll get a different job.”

“Oh, and that’ll be so different, will it?” Alec scoffed. “City corporates are all the same. You know that much better than I do.”

Did Alec have to make it all that much harder? Of all the things he could push Magnus about, it had to be about this. Did he not realise that Magnus was going to miss him so much it would hurt, without his last memories of Alec being these? Alec arguing and playing on Magnus’ weak spots?

Magnus inhaled deeply. He was spiralling. He needed to pull it together before he said something he was going to regret. If this was to be the last time he saw Alec, he didn’t want it to taint all the good times they’d shared together. 

“Look, Alec, you’ve known since the beginning that I’m going back to London. It’s my choice. It’s what I want to do. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t make this harder than it already is.”

“You say crap like that and expect me not to fight for you?” Alec laughed derisively. “If leaving is so bloody hard, why are you so insistent on going back to London?”

“Well in case you haven’t noticed, there are people here that I’ve come to care about! That doesn’t negate the fact that I do have to go back to London. I have a job interview that I have to be there for, and I have to get back into things before I lose my touch, and—”

“No!” Alec’s eyes were wild with frustration. “For god’s sake, Magnus, this is my point! You don’t _have_ to do any of that! You only think you do! You don’t have to live this crazy lifestyle to live a good, fulfilling life! That’s bullshit fed to you by the people who want you to work sixty hour weeks at the cost of your health!”

“Says the man who works sixty hour weeks regularly,” Magnus snapped.

“I love my job. When I do work a sixty hour week, I’m exhausted. But it hasn’t got so bad that I’ve had a breakdown.”

“Oh, wow.” Magnus’ lip curled. “Throw that one out there just to rub salt in the wound, why don’t you?”

Alec growled in frustration. “I’m not trying to be cruel!”

“Then what are you trying to do, exactly?” Magnus demanded, sitting back in his chair and throwing his hands up. “Manipulate me into doing exactly what you think I should do, is that it?”

“What?” Alec looked aghast. “Of course not. I’m trying to make you see that you don’t have to live a life that chips away at you until there’s nothing left.”

Magnus snorted. “Right. That’s really what all this sounds like.”

“Damnit, Magnus, just for a minute will you please—”

“No, I will not! I’m not dropping everything to do exactly what some fucking _guy_ tells me to.”

“I’m not trying to tell you what to do, I’m trying to look out for you because I love you!”

Magnus opened his mouth to bark out a retort, and then his brain caught up to Alec’s words. 

_I love you_. 

Jaw slack and lips parted, Magnus stared at Alec in shock. Alec stared right back, eyes wide with horror. Clearly, he hadn’t intended for that to slip out. Silence fell between them, neither looking away. Magnus’ heart pounded so loudly he could hear it echoing with every beat.

“Magnus,” Alec started. “Magnus, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“No.” Magnus stood up quickly, almost knocking his wine glass over in his haste to get up and get out, get away, get away from Alec and those fucking eyes of his. “Don’t– Just don’t. I’m leaving. You can’t beg me to stay. That’s not fair.”

“Magnus,” Alec pleaded. “Just talk to me, just—”

“Goodbye, Alexander,” he said, avoiding Alec’s gaze as he turned towards the hallway. “Thank you for dinner.”

“Magnus!”

But Magnus didn’t even turn around. Tears stung at his eyes, turning the world blurry, but he’d been in Alec’s home enough times not to need to see to navigate to the front door. He pulled his shoes and coat on with fumbling fingers, yanked open the front door, and stumbled out into the freezing nighttime.

He let the door slam shut behind him. Magnus closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled deeply, the cold night air filling his lungs. For a moment, he thought the sound of the door being wrenched open would meet his ears, and he’d turn around to see Alec standing there, breathing heavily, ready to persuade Magnus to stay.

But the door stayed firmly shut. And, after another few seconds, Magnus opened his eyes, scrubbed away his tears, and began his walk down the hill back to Rose Cottage, leaving Alec well and truly behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Simon: You and Alec are in love  
> Magnus: PAHAHA. No we’re not.  
> Alec: I love you.  
> Magnus: 😧😧


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus and Clary return to London, everyone is vying for Callie’s affections, and Magnus has an epiphany.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: event 
> 
> (this was probably meant to be, like, a pride event, or something, but this chapter contains events in the most literal sense, so that’ll do. We take these prompts loosely or there wouldn’t be a story 😅)

Magnus’ flat in London smelt like home.

It didn’t look quite like how it had when he’d left, courtesy of the couple who’d been living there while he’d been in Stickwick, but it smelt the same. He’d taken his most treasured possessions with him to Stickwick, currently packed up in boxes in the living room, but simply stepping inside made something tight inside him loosen and unwind. 

He was home. He was home and healthy and ready to get back to living his life the way he truly loved it, with the thrill of a fast-paced work day and the convenience of the Tube and the plethora of trendy bars for him to indulge in after work.

A long breath escaped him. There was no faint stench of farm here. No treacherous muddy hill to contend with. No horrible steep slope to get his car up and down.

No kindly doctor as his neighbour, either, he thought, with a sting of regret. 

He would miss Alec. He already did, endlessly. The circumstances of their final conversation tasted sour in his memories. But it was going to be okay. His life was going to look up now. He was home, and it was time to get his life back on track.

***

“Hey, babe.”

Isabelle’s voice crackled through the phone as she picked up on the first ring. Clary smiled to herself. She’d only been gone for four days, and already she missed Stickwick. She missed Isabelle, mostly, but the town had wormed its way into her heart with its rainbow-centred charm, and she missed its calm, welcoming vibe.

“Hey,” Clary said, kicking her feet up on the sofa. Her mum and Luke were both in the kitchen, bickering loudly over dinner, so Clary had thought it was an appropriate moment to call her girlfriend. 

Her mother had been nagging at her since the moment she’d got back, asking over and over again whether Clary was sure, whether she would miss the city, whether she really wanted to go so far away. Luke had been nothing but supportive, but, frankly, Jocelyn’s attitude alone was enough for Clary to want to scream.

“How’s London?” 

Clary huffed out a laugh. “Polluted. I can smell it. I actually miss the smell of manure.”

“Naw.” She could hear Isabelle’s grin in her voice. “How romantic.”

“Shut up.”

“Have you been able to sort out everything you wanted to?”

“I’m getting there. I officially resigned this morning, which was very freeing. I have to give a month’s notice, but I wasn’t due to go back for another few weeks anyway, so I’ve worked my last day for that god-forsaken place.”

“I’m glad to hear it. What about your flat?”

“Ah.” Clary grinned. “That was stunningly easy. I told my landlord that I won’t be renewing my tenancy agreement, and the sub-letters want to keep renting the place indefinitely, so that’s all sorted.”

There was a sudden barking coming from the other end of the line, and Clary’s heart ached when she realised that it was Callie. Magnus had wanted Clary to keep her, saying that his lifestyle wasn’t very conducive to owning a dog, but Clary hadn’t wanted to take her up to London just for two weeks when she had so much to do, so she’d left her in Isabelle’s capable hands. She hadn’t anticipated how hard it would be to leave her.

“Sorry,” Isabelle said. “I had the phone on speaker while I fed her. I think she must have recognised your voice.”

“Don’t,” Clary begged her. “My heart is going to break into a million pieces.”

Isabelle huffed out a laugh. “I’ll send you the photo of her and Maia at the vet clinic this morning. You’re not getting Callie back. She’s Maia’s now.”

Clary sniffed. “At least Maia will be a deserving owner.”

“I think Alec has his eye on her too.”

Clary sobered at the mention of Alec. She hadn’t spoken to Magnus since they’d been back in London, both of them busy with things, but she’d seen him after he’d been to see Alec, that last time. He’d walked in with red-rimmed eyes and smudged mascara, but, when Clary had asked, he’d refused to talk about it. She still had no idea exactly what had happened, but their goodbye couldn’t have gone well. Alec had been notably absent from the party of friends who’d gathered to say goodbye to them. 

“How is Alec?” Clary asked tentatively. “Is he doing okay?”

“It’s hard to tell, to be completely honest.” Isabelle sighed. “I saw him yesterday, and he seemed pretty cheerful, but he’d good at pretending. He must be hurting. He wouldn’t come to say goodbye to you both, but he wouldn’t tell me what happened.”

“Magnus didn’t want to tell me, either,” Clary admitted.

“I suppose we can’t fix their lives for them.”

“No,” Clary agreed, thinking of Magnus and his desire to chase after things she didn’t think even existed. She cradled the phone close to her ear. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” Isabelle said softly. “But I think it’s right that you spend some time with your family. And your London friends.”

“They all think I’m mad.” Clary chuckled. “But they’ve all been supportive. Well.” She scowled and lowered her voice. “Other than my mother.”

“I’m sure it’s just because she’s going to miss you. She’ll get used to it once she realises she’s not going to lose you just because you’ve moved further away. At least, that’s how it went with my mum.”

Clary felt herself relax a little at Isabelle’s words. She was right. Clary had always been close to her mum, so it would be an adjustment for them both. Jocelyn didn’t understand why Clary wanted to take a teaching job when she’d never shown any real interest in teaching before, nor did she understand why she wanted to give up the culture that came with living in the city, no matter how much Clary tried to explain.

“You’re probably right.” Clary exhaled. “Thank you.”

“Oh, honey.” Isabelle made a soft, sympathetic noise in the back of her throat. “If I were there, I’d give you a hug.”

“I appreciate the sentiment.”

The sound of her mother calling her from the kitchen drifted over. Clary shouted that she’d only be a minute, and then returned her attention to her call with Isabelle.

“You can say no, and I’ll make an excuse for you,” Clary began, “but my mum and Luke wanted to invite you over to meet them. Maybe next weekend? I think it would help my mum feel better about the move, too. So if you can spare the time...”

“I’m on call on Saturday, but I have Sunday and Monday off. How’s that?”

“I’m sure that would be perfect.”

“Great. I’ll let you go, now. I love you.”

Clary battled down a smile just long enough to say, “I love you too.”

***

When Magnus stepped onto the platform at Liverpool Street station, a month after he’d moved back to London and three weeks since he’d attended an interview that seemed like more of a formality, Stickwick seemed like a long-ago fever dream. 

The platform was busy as he walked down towards the ticket barriers, twice as fast as most other people trudging along. He exhaled impatiently as the woman in front of him fumbled with her Oyster card for a few seconds, gritted his teeth when a teenage boy just _stopped_ in the middle of the walkway once he got through, and tried not to groan at the bottleneck of people going through the roadworks outside at the pace of a snail. Honestly. Why were people so damn slow? Didn’t they all have things to do and places to be?

He was swamped with things to do the moment he got into the office. Much as his old job hadn’t been particularly conducive to a healthy lifestyle, at least his team had been excellent at their jobs. The team he had at the moment were good, but incapable of doing anything without running it by him first. He was practically crying for someone to just take some damn initiative. 

Just as he was considering going out to buy a sandwich for lunch, his boss - who had, apparently, hand-picked him from a selection of candidates presented to him by a headhunter and demand that someone get Magnus for him no matter how much money they had to offer - stopped by and invited him into a meeting.

Magnus was very accustomed to being the only person of colour in meetings like these. This one was no exception. There was one woman in the room, who had her hair drawn back into a severe bun and her lips pressed into a thin line. Magnus wondered whether she was the woman all the junior employees called bossy and argumentative and demanding when they thought nobody could hear them. They never shut up when Magnus was present—he didn’t exactly look like the kind of person who’d hold a reasonably senior position, after all.

He was introduced to the people in the room he hadn’t met before, and he shook their hands, smiling pleasantly and pretending not to notice their once-overs and purse-lipped disapproval of his fashion choices. He had nothing to prove to these people. His work spoke for itself.

It wasn’t until he eventually left the office at half past seven, after a meeting with a client had gone over and about a hundred issues had popped up all at once, that he realised he never had had lunch. Couldn’t they even be bothered to provide sandwiches when they pulled him into a meeting over lunchtime? Honestly.

At least the Tube was never too busy when it was this late. He might even get a seat. Which would be nice, he thought, as he locked his desk drawers and picked up his jacket and bag, because he was bloody exhausted, and he needed to do some prep for an upcoming court date. 

He had a missed call from Ragnor by the time the Tube roared onto the overground section of track. He’d call him back later, he thought. He didn’t have time tonight. 

In the end, he didn’t get a chance to call Ragnor back until the weekend, by which time he wanted nothing more than to collapse onto the sofa with a strong coffee and perhaps a glass of whisky, and watch some show that required minimal attention. 

When he thought about the last thing he’d watched, he realised that it was the first season of Grey’s Anatomy, with Clary, in honour of their adopting Callie.

Magnus’ heart ached at the thought. He missed Clary. He missed Callie endlessly, despite his initial misgivings. And he missed his own Doctor McDreamy. In a moment of weakness, a couple of weeks ago, he’d picked up his phone to call him, before realising what a terrible idea that was. 

Exhausted had similar effects to being intoxicated, or so they said. Tired-calling was nearly as bad as drunk-calling, in Magnus’ experience. 

Magnus didn’t call Ragnor. He fell asleep on the sofa at two o’clock in the afternoon, sunlight streaming in through the windows, and dreamt of a tiny little village in the countryside that celebrated people like him, rather than frowning when he walked into the room.

***

“I hate it.”

Ragnor stared at him. Magnus stared right back. Then, reluctantly, he stepped back from the door and waved a hand to let Ragnor in. Ragnor shot him a quizzical look, as though he was slightly concerned that Magnus had finally lost it. Again. 

Frankly, Magnus thought, shutting the door and rubbing at his temple in an attempt to ease the ache building there, he wasn’t entirely sure that he wasn’t losing it.

“I take it you didn’t invite me for a drink just to have a chat, then?” Ragnor asked, arching an eyebrow in amusement. 

“No.” Magnus sighed. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay. I was waiting for this.”

Magnus frowned. “What are you talking about?’

“No!” Ragnor held up a threatening finger. “Don’t deflect. Now, sit down here and tell me what’s going on so I can sort your life out for you.”

Magnus scowled at him. “Fuck you.”

“Yes, yes.” Ragnor gestured impatiently to the sofa, taking a seat in the armchair on the opposite side of Magnus’ mahogany coffee table. “Sit. Let it all out.”

Shoulders slumping, Magnus collapsed onto the sofa and scrubbed a hand roughly through his hair. God, where did he even start? He wasn’t even entirely sure what was going on. He didn’t understand. He’d come back to London and got everything he’d wanted, but—

Well. _But_. But everything.

“My life has gone exactly to plan in the last six weeks,” Magnus said. “I came back. I got a good job. A better job. Alright, I’m still working twelve hour days, but they’re having a busy period. I’m back in the city I love, I’m not being passed over for opportunities because I’m not a white man who conforms to all the stereotypes, I’m seeing my friends...”

“I sense that there is a _but_ coming,” Ragnor said dryly. “If you say _But Alec_...”

“No!” Magnus frowned. “Well, yes, alright, but not just that. But _everything_.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific if you want me to give you some of my stellar advice, darling.”

Magnus was about to bite out a retort about how Ragnor’s genius advice after his breakdown had been for Magnus to go to a village that was home to more farm animals than actual people, but something made the words evaporate from his tongue. No, he would never have chosen to go to Stickwick on his own, and it had taken him a while to get used to it, but it hadn’t really been so bad, in the end. 

“I don’t know.” Magnus shook his head. “I don’t know what it is, but it feels...wrong. Everything feels wrong. I should be loving life, but I’m not.”

Ragnor watched him carefully. “Do you feel satisfied when you come home from work?”

Magnus’ brow furrowed. “No, not really. Just tired. I feel satisfied when things go well at work, but when I come home I just want to forget about it for what limited time I have.”

“How much are you sleeping?”

Magnus winced. “Not that much. Five hours. Six on a good night.”

“Last time you went out to do something for you?”

“Yesterday. I went for a drink with Will. I hadn’t seen him since I came home.”

“Hmm.” 

Magnus raised his eyebrows. “Hmm? That’s all you have to say?”

“Well.” Ragnor shrugged. “I think the problem is quite obvious, myself, but you need to realise it for yourself.”

Magnus groaned and flopped back against the sofa, letting his eyes fall shut. He despised Ragnor’s cryptic comments. Sometimes he just wanted a straight answer. He wanted someone to lay it all out straight for him to see: there was clearly something he was missing from the equation he was trying to solve, because he kept getting the wrong answer.

“I miss Stickwick,” Magnus grumbled, rubbing his knuckles into his eyes. “It was so much easier.”

Ragnor didn’t respond to that. Magnus hadn’t expected he would. When he didn’t say anything for so long that it was almost uncomfortable, however, Magnus opened his eyes to look at him, and found Ragnor watching him with his eyebrows raised pointedly.

“What?” Magnus asked, feeling lost. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Ragnor’s eyebrows hitched up higher. 

Magnus pulled himself into an upright position. “What? What is it?”

“Exactly what you just said.”

“What did I say? That I— Oh.”

_Oh._

_I miss Stickwick_ , he’d said, without really considering his words. Not _I miss Alec_ , or _I miss Raphael and Simon_ , or even _I miss Clary and Callie. I miss Stickwick_.

He did, he realised, with a sudden fervour. Not just the people. He missed the place. He missed the easy acceptance, despite London supposedly being one of the most progressive places in the world. He missed how friendly everyone was, despite how annoying he thought he’d found cheerful people. He missed the familial feel of the small town, despite how much he’d thought he enjoyed the anonymity of the big city. 

He missed what he’d done there, too. He missed writing, even though he was sure much of the novel he’d almost finished was absolute shit. He missed seeing Alice and Betty and the residents of Stickwick’s nursing home with their amazing stories and love of life. He missed having time to partake in hobbies that gave him the sort of fulfilment that work never had.

He’d decided to become a solicitor because he’d thought that he’d be able to make a difference to people’s lives. And, sometimes, he did, and it was amazing. But he spent so much of his life exhausted and frustrated that the shine had dulled. It had just taken him this long to realise why. 

It hadn’t been his old job at all. It had been _everything_. 

Suddenly exhilarated by his newfound epiphany, Magnus turned triumphant eyes on Ragnor, opening his mouth to convey his jubilance at his realisation, and—

Deflated as reality hit. Living in Stickwick had been nice, sure, but he hadn’t had a job. And there was still the fact that he really did enjoy the wealth of things to do in the city that didn’t exist in a countryside village.

“Oh no.” Ragnor looked disappointed. “I thought you’d got somewhere.”

“Even if I wanted to, I can’t just...go.”

“Oh my god. Why on earth not?”

“I need a job. And I maintain that living in a place that doesn’t even have a gym will destroy me.”

Ragnor blinked. “Magnus, did you not drive out to the neighbouring towns while you were there?”

“No, not really.”

“Google,” Ragnor said. “You really need to Google the next place you move to.”

“What is your point, exactly?”

“Well, firstly, you might have to go a little bit further to get to all the shining city things you love so much, but they do exist in the countryside. I should know. I literally grew up on a farm. Secondly, they do need lawyers in places other than big cities.”

“But what if I hate that, too? What if it’s worse? What if I can’t find a job?”

Ragnor snorted at that. “Magnus, you got a job at one of the most prestigious firms in the city without really trying. You can get a job at a countryside firm.”

“And what if I don’t like it?” Magnus asked desperately. He leant forwards, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Ragnor, I just–”

“If you don’t like it,” Ragnor interrupted him gently, “then you can do something else. The world is your oyster, Magnus. You’re clever. You have a good degree. You’ve got the luxury of having savings to fall back on. You’re allowed to try things, hate them, and try something else. You can change your entire career trajectory if you want to.”

Magnus let out a hollow laugh. “I think that might be a bit much. Right now, anyway.”

Ragnor shrugged. “Fair enough. In which case, I feel like now is when I point out that your firm has an office not far from Stickwick.”

That made Magnus pause. His heart thudded. “With a human rights branch?”

“I wouldn’t mention it if it didn’t.”

Magnus pressed his lips together, hesitating. “I need to think about this. This is–a lot. It’s a lot.”

“I know.” Ragnor reached over the coffee table to squeeze Magnus’ hand in his. “But continuing to do something you hate out of a misguided sense of obligation is a terrible waste of your life.”

“Can I really go back to Stickwick?” Magnus wondered. Could he really crawl back with his tail between his legs and admit that everyone had been right? Raphael and Clary and Ragnor and Alec? “They’ll be saying _I told you so_ until I turn grey.”

“If everything you’ve told me about those people is true, they’ll just be pleased that you’re back.”

Magnus shot Ragnor a slightly weak smile. “Maybe.”

“Hey, you don’t have to go back to Stickwick. You could go somewhere else. Anywhere you like.”

Magnus shook his head, feeling, for the first time in months, like he was finally on the right track. Or, at the very least, turning towards it. Leaving the bright, seductive lights he’d been following for more than a decade for the softer, subtler ones that he’d almost passed by. 

“No,” he said. “No, I want to. I want to go back to Stickwick.”

And, in his heart, it felt right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ragnor wanted to strangle Magnus for being oblivious for 95% of that conversation.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: acceptance
> 
> Here! Have a really damn long chapter! Enjoy!

“I have a proposal.”

Lorenzo Rey, Magnus’ boss as of a week ago, when the man who’d personally recruited him had been promoted and whisked away to lands unknown to work on some super-secret case that probably involved the Secret Service, looked up. He shot Magnus the sort of silky smile that made Magnus want to strangle him with his stupid grey cravat. Honestly, if the man was going to wear a cravat every day, he could at least make at statement. Nobody made a statement in _grey_. 

Whenever Magnus wore cravats, they were purple. Or red. Or dotty. And he wore them with a waistcoat. On Lorenzo, the effect was somewhat diminished by how entirely boring the rest of his attire was. 

What Lorenzo lacked in legal talent, he apparently made up in charm, however. Magnus had Googled him as soon as they’d been introduced, wondering how a man who clearly wasn’t anything intellectually special had managed to do so well for himself. Apparently, it was his sweet talking and silver tongue. Magnus didn’t get it.

“A proposal,” Lorenzo said. He made a broad, sweeping gesture with his hand. “Please, do take a seat. I’ll be thrilled to hear what you have to say. Of course, I would have thought someone at your level could make business proposals a little more professionally than an impromptu meeting half an hour before I have to attend a meeting with the judge, but alas...”

Magnus refrained from rolling his eyes. He had, in fact, chosen to walk into Lorenzo’s office now precisely because he was aware that he had to leave, and would therefore be more likely to simply grant Magnus’ request out of sheer irritation. 

Magnus was a lawyer. He knew how to play dirty. Especially with the like of Lorenzo Rey. 

“It’s a personal proposal,” Magnus said, taking a seat and sitting with his back straight and shoulders back. “I saw that there was an opening in one of our office in the south-west.”

Curiosity sparked in Lorenzo’s eyes. He leant forward a little. “Yes. We’ve been struggling to fill that. Few people of a sufficiently high standard want to move out that way. They’ve all got their eyes set on the big cities.”

 _As we all do_ , Magnus thought wryly. Mere weeks ago, he would have scoffed at the idea of moving out to the middle of nowhere for less pay, less exciting cases, and fewer career advancement opportunities. Until, after his conversation with Ragnor, he’d realised that whilst there were fewer opportunities to rise up the ranks, it didn’t lessen his chances, because there was far less competition, and if he’d done this well in London, he could do a damn good job in the middle of nowhere. 

“Do you have someone in mind?” Lorenzo asked. 

“Yes. Me.”

Lorenzo stared at him. “I’m sorry?”

“I want that position.”

“You...think you can cover the position from here? Remotely?”

Magnus snorted. “No, of course not. I want to move there. Permanently.”

“You want to leave our London office to go _there_?” Lorenzo wrinkled his nose. “Are you out of your mind?”

“My reasons are my own,” Magnus told him. “The position has been open for three months and you haven’t found a satisfactory candidate. You can either fill it with me, or someone incompetent who’ll reflect poorly on our company name.” Magnus looked pointedly at Lorenzo. “Wouldn’t it look excellent for you if you were the one to present this solution?”

Lorenzo inhaled slowly, drumming his fingers against the desk. “And who would we replace you with?”

“Oh, come off it.” Magnus scoffed. “You’ll have hundreds of well-qualified people gagging for my job.”

“Well.” Lorenzo shrugged. “If that’s what you want, I’m sure I can work something out. Why you’d want to make this move I really have no idea, but—”

“Fabulous.” Magnus smiled brightly and rose from the chair. He did up the top button of his blazer, smoothed down his trousers, and said, “Thank you for that, Lorenzo.”

And, leaving Lorenzo staring after him with unconcealed bewilderment, Magnus turned sharply on his heel, pulled open the glass door, and strode down the corridor with a spring in his step. As stunning as the view from his glass-walled office that overlooked the Thames was, there were better things waiting for him in Stickwick. 

Not least of all, much lower blood pressure.

***

Clary frowned at the two patches of paint she’d tried out on the wall of her new living room last night. Both, according to Isabelle, were best described as beige, but one had a definite green tint, and the other was more grey. She was leaning towards the green, but the variable weather of spring in the English countryside meant that she kept looking at the shades in different lights, which made it very difficult to choose. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind again,” came Isabelle’s voice from behind her. She’d tugged her hair into a high ponytail and donned an old pair of jeans and a tank top for their afternoon’s work, and, in truth, Clary found it exceedingly attractive. 

“Well, at this time of day the green is clearly the better choice, but yesterday evening—”

“Clary.” 

Hands came to rest on her shoulders and she felt Isabelle’s breath stir the stands of hair at the nape of her neck that had escaped her scrappy bun, held in place by pencils because she’d been up and down the stairs a hundred times that morning and she couldn’t be bothered to go again just for a hair band. 

“We spent two hours today driving to Wickes, interrogating that poor guy about the best brand of emulsion, and standing in that insanely long queue. Also, my biceps have doubled in size from lugging them to the car. If you tell me it was all for nothing, I _will_ break up with you.”

Clary giggled and turned around the curl her arms loosely around Isabelle’s waist. She leant in to brush her nose against Isabelle, pressed a kiss to the tip, and said, “I suppose we’d better go with the green, then.”

Isabelle sighed and looked at the wall mournfully. “I really thought I was good at colours until I started dating you. I can put together a stunning outfit from just about any combination of individually boring pieces, but those both look beige to me.”

Fondly, Clary shook her head and moved away from Isabelle to begin opening a tub of paint. She poured some into the tray, narrowed her eyes at it, and picked up a roller, before glancing over at Isabelle.

“I think the last time I painted a wall was when I was about twelve and Luke repainted the kitchen.”

Isabelle’s lips quirked up. “You city people and your rentals.”

“I still can’t believe I own a fucking house. I have a mortgage. I’m so bloody grown up.”

Isabelle laughed. “Better paint it green, then, Fray.”

“I hope you know that it is very tempting to roller paint on your face.”

“Wow, so that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?”

Clary smirked. “Be on your guard, Lightwood.”

***

In the end, it wasn’t until Isabelle was distracted, standing on a stepladder, stretching up to paint the upper corner of a wall with a paintbrush, that Clary flicked paint at her. Isabelle gaped, looking at her with wide, betrayed eyes, and then flicked her brush in Clary’s direction.

Ten minutes later, they were both laying on the floor, streaked with paint and breathless with laughter. One wall still needed finishing, up where the wall met the ceiling, but, unless Isabelle could be bothered to get up and do it, it would have to wait for tomorrow. Clary was exhausted. She wanted to collapse onto her sofa and curl up with her girlfriend and have such a good nap that she was disorientated when she eventually woke up.

“Can you be bothered to clean any of this up?” Clary asked, arching an eyebrow at Isabelle as they helped each other up from the floor.

Isabelle scrunched her nose up adorably. “We should probably was out the roller. And the tray. And the brush.”

Clary sighed. “Fuck.”

“I’ll do it if you order take-away.”

Clary blinked. “Take-away? You can get take-away in Stickwick?”

“Of course you can.” Isabelle looked at her like she was mad. “Are you telling me that you and Magnus lived here for six months and didn’t get a take-away once?”

Clary shrugged sheepishly. “We were trying to get into healthy habits. I could only cook about four meals before we came here.”

“You can order take-away here,” Isabelle said firmly. “There’s a stack of menus next to the landline.”

Clary shook her head fondly. Landlines. Who the fuck used a landline anymore? Or physical take-away menus, for that matter.

“You choose,” Isabelle said, bending down to pick up the rollers. “I’m starving. I’ll eat anything.”

“Curry?”

“Sounds fantastic.”

Isabelle tucked an escaped strand of hair behind her ear as she straightened. Smiling, Clary watched her for a handful of seconds, thinking that she had really managed to find herself the best, most beautiful girlfriend in the world.

***

The thatched cottage with climbing roses decorating its front that Magnus ended up renting was significantly smaller than Rose Cottage had been. But it didn’t smell like farm when Magnus rolled into the driveway, and it looked a lot prettier, with its knotted wooden features and a coat of paint that had clearly been applied fairly recently. 

Clary and Isabelle knocked on the door at six o’clock in the evening the day after he arrived, bearing gifts. Isabelle offered him a bottle of wine and a hug, and Clary—

“Callie!” Magnus exclaimed, unable to hide his delight as he crouched down to greet the dog that had been half-his for many months. Callie barked excitedly, tail wagging frantically as she jumped all over him and licked his face.

“She missed you,” Clary said, smiling.

“I missed you too, gorgeous,” Magnus told Callie, scratching under her chin. “Is Clary taking good care of you? Is she? Are you gonna sit for me?”

Still vibrating with excitement, Callie did as she was told, sitting in front of Magnus and gazing up at him with worshipful eyes. 

“Damn right I am,” Clary said. “This is the most spoilt dog in the country.”

“I’m sure you deserve it,” Magnus said to Callie, rubbing the top of her head, before standing up out of his crouch. “Would you like to come in?”

“I have to be in at work by seven,” Isabelle said, “but I wanted to come and welcome you back.”

Magnus smiled, warmth flooding him. He’d missed Isabelle. “Thank you. It’s lovely to see you again.”

“Ditto. We’re all thrilled that you’re back.” Isabelle’s face twisted into a wry smile. “Even my workaholic brother, although he’ll never admit it.”

At the mention of Alec - because Max was many things, but not a workaholic—he had the sort of work-life balance that Magnus aspired to - Magnus sobered. Excited as he was to be back in Stickwick, starting a new job that would, he hoped, genuinely be different to the last, this time, seeing Alec again filled him with anxiety. Not because he didn’t want to see him - he very much did - but because he winced every time he thought of their last conversation. 

Alec had told him that moving back to London was a bad idea. Now, two months later, he was admitting that he’d been right. Experience told him that trying to avoid someone in Stickwick was impossible, so he was going to have to confront Alec sooner rather than later. He didn’t know whether it would be better to let it happen organically, and probably in public, or to go and seek Alec out in private before that could happen.

Either way, Magnus was expecting an uncomfortable conversation. 

“He’s not angry with you,” Isabelle said, watching him with those astute eyes of hers. “You do know that, right?”

Magnus shot her a weak smile. “I find that unlikely, darling.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know what happened between you two, but I promise you, he’s not angry. He might have been two months ago, but he’s not now.” Her expression softened. “Alec doesn’t bear a grudge against the people he loves.”

“I’m sure he’ll want to talk to you,” Clary agreed, leaning into Isabelle’s side. Isabelle’s arm slid around her waist. The gesture was clearly subconscious. Magnus was so happy that Clary had found someone like Isabelle.

“Maybe,” was all Magnus said.

“He asked after you last time I saw him,” Clary added.

And despite himself, Magnus felt hope.

***

When Magnus dared to ring Alec’s doorbell, it was dreary and drizzling, and he hoped it wasn’t a sign that things were about to go horribly wrong, like they had the last time he spoke to Alec. 

He’d managed to avoid Alec for the four days he’d been back in Stickwick, but that was probably because they’d both been at work for most of that time. He had it on good authority - Isabelle, that was - that it was Alec’s day off. Which meant that Magnus was bound to run into him at some awkward, inopportune moment, unless he bit the bullet and made first contact.

God, he was pathetic.

The drizzle began to fall more rapidly, and Magnus cursed, leaning in towards Alec’s door for a bit of reprieve from the wet. Magnus wouldn’t have been surprised if Alec knew it was him outside and was ignoring the doorbell as punishment. 

From inside, a muffled voice shouted, “Sorry, I’m coming, I’m coming!”

A second later, the door was wrenched open, and Magnus was greeted by the sight of Alec dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants, hair ruffled and sticking up in all directions. The sight hurt a little: he was just as beautiful as the last time Magnus had seen him, and he was staring at Magnus with wide eyes and parted lips, frozen in place.

“Hi,” Magnus managed, offering Alec a half-smile. 

Alec, for once, appeared to be at a loss for words. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, made a vague gesture with his hand, and eventually said, “Hi.”

“I’m back in the neighbourhood,” Magnus said, and laughed in self-deprecation. “Obviously.”

“Yeah. I heard.”

Silence fell. Magnus tried not to cringe visibly. Things had never been awkward between him and Alec before, even when they’d been yelling at each other than once. He should have practised what he was going to say before he came. He’d lain awake the previous night, staring up at the ceiling as he made a mental checklist of all the things he had to tell Alec, but now, faced with him, his list had promptly vacated his brain. 

“It’s raining,” Alec stated. “You should probably come in, if you...want to talk, or whatever.”

Magnus suppressed the urge to wince. “Right. Thank you.”

They stood in the hallway for a moment, shifting around each other and trying to hard to avoid touching as Magnus toed off his boots. He followed Alec into the living room, relieved when Alec didn’t try to offer him a drink or otherwise delay the conversation. They sat down on opposite sofas—having a coffee table in between them felt safer. 

“So.” Alec cleared his throat. “You’re back.”

“I am, yes. Indefinitely.”

“The move back to London, it didn’t...?”

Magnus smiled down at his knees, and folded his hands between them. “Actually, it all went exactly to plan. It couldn’t have been more seamless. I had someone practically begging me to come and work for them almost the moment I got home.”

“Oh.” Alec’s brows drew together, furrowing in the middle. “Then what are you doing back here?”

Magnus shrugged helplessly, lifting his gaze to meet Alec’s. “Nothing felt right.”

“What do you mean?”

“I—” Magnus spread his palms out to the sides, and shook his head. “I had a job at exactly the sort of company I wanted to work for. I wasn’t on the receiving end of any racial microaggressions. I was living close to all my friends again. But...” He smiled wryly. “When I had my breakdown, when I came here, even when I left, I thought that he problem had been my job. I thought it was that company. That group of people. That absolute arsehole of a boss I had. But it wasn’t that at all.”

“Magnus,” Alec said, expression softening. 

“You were right, you know. When we argued that night. You were right. The job I took when I went back was better, but I was still working insanely long hours. I was still stressed. I was still exhausted. I still didn’t have enough time for my friends. The only silver lining was that I wasn’t sleeping with people I’d only met a few hours ago from dating apps, but that was only because—”

He stopped, swallowing the rest of the words that had been about to spill out. That wasn’t supposed to be a part of this conversation. They just needed to clear the air so that they could live in the same minuscule town without it being horribly uncomfortable every time they saw each other in public. Magnus wasn’t trying to get anything else out of this conversation. It would have been awful to ask, and, regardless, it had been two months since he’d last seen Alec. There was no guarantee he was even available anymore.

But Alec raised his eyebrows and said, “That was only because what?”

Magnus inhaled deeply. “That was only because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

A breath left Alec in a rush, and his shoulders curled in on himself. Magnus’ heart ached at the sight. It looked like he was trying to protect himself, and Magnus hated so much that he’d done that. That it was his fault Alec looked like that—nothing like his usual confident, charming self. There was no twinkle in his eye or endearing slant to his grin. 

“I’m sorry,” Magnus murmured. “For that night, for the way I shouted at you. I would apologise for all the things I said, but I barely remember what they were.”

Alec shook his head. “You don’t have to apologise for that, Magnus. It was—it was a mess. We were both upset before I opened that can of worms. Our goodbye was never going to end in anything but tears, whether we argued or not.”

“I do,” Magnus said, softly. “I do have to apologise. You were right about everything, but I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t listen.”

“No, I—” Alec dragged a hand through his hair, making it stick up even more. “It doesn’t matter whether or not I was right. I was worried about you going back to London, but I didn’t exactly bring it up for selfless reasons. I wanted you to stay. If I’d been a better man, I would have brought it up weeks before you were supposed to go, had a mature conversation, given you time to think about it. I shouldn’t have tried to corner you into staying days before you were leaving. I’m sorry too.”

“I was never angry with you. Well.” Magnus flashed him a ghost of a grin. “I was a little angry. Leaving you behind was always going to hurt. Arguing with you made it hurt more.”

Alec smiled, a small, sad smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and ducked his head. “So you’re staying here, now.”

“Yes.”

“Because you weren’t happy in London?”

“No.”

“Even though your friends are there?”

“It was nice to see them,” Magnus said. “Of course it was. And it was nice to have bars and theatres and gyms and anything I could possibly want practically at my door. But I didn’t have time to utilise any of that. Not really. I was either working, or so exhausted from working that I didn’t have the energy to do things or see people.”

“But you think it’s going to be different here?”

“It already is. I’ve been at work for three days in the city.” Not that it really counted as a city, in Magnus’ book. More a moderately sized town. “I got in at half eight every day and was home at about half six.”

Which was a hell of a lot better than the half past eight, nine o’clock Magnus had been getting home when he’d been working in London. And he’d used to go into the office ridiculously early just to get ahead of things.

“I’m glad you’ve found something that makes you happy,” Alec said.

“Not going to gloat?” Magnus asked, only half joking. He wouldn’t have blamed Alec if he had an _I told you so_ moment. He had. So many people had. 

“Of course not. I’m not happy that your move back to London went wrong. Obviously, it’s good to have you back, but I wouldn’t have wished that you’d have a crap time for that to happen. And sometimes people need to work out for themselves that something isn’t right for them. Me telling you wasn’t going to help you work it out. And, honestly, I would have been very worried if you’d decided to stay just because I told you it was best.”

“I think you’re being kinder than I deserve,” Magnus said quietly, thinking of the hurt in Alec’s eyes when Alec had told Magnus that he loved him, and Magnus had fled. 

“No.”

The familiar sensation of a warm hand on his made Magnus jump. He hadn’t noticed Alec getting up to round the coffee table, but there he was sitting down beside Magnus on the sofa, watching him with concerned, gentle eyes.

“We had an argument, Magnus. People argue. People say hurtful things when they argue. Then they apologise. That’s how life goes.”

“I think this situation is a bit more complicated than an ordinary domestic,” Magnus said.

He tried not to focus too much on how soothing it was to feel Alec’s touch. He desperately wanted to turn his hand over and twine his fingers through Alec’s, but he knew he couldn’t. He didn’t know if he was allowed to do that anymore. Perhaps that was for somebody else, now. Perhaps Alec was able to be this gracious because he’d moved on.

“Yes,” Alec agreed, “and if you’d turned here six weeks ago, I probably would have shut the door in your face.”

Magnus snorted. “Thanks.”

Alec smirked. “I was sad. I was angry with you for making me sad. And I missed you. But that was six weeks ago.”

“So you’re saying you’re not sad any more? Or angry?”

“I’m sad that you’re sad. But I’m not angry with you. And I’m glad that you’re back, even if it hurts to look at you a little bit.”

“I’m sorry,” Magnus murmured, casting his eyes down for a moment, before the rest of Alec’s words caught up to him and he looked back up. “Wait. I’m not sad.”

Alec raised his eyebrows. “Aren’t you? A little bit?”

“No,” Magnus said, and wondered, abruptly, whether that was a lie. Was he sad? Perhaps he was a little. Mourning, more than sad. Mourning all the things - the life - he thought he would get to enjoy in London.

But he wasn’t sad about being back in Stickwick. In fact, he felt more at peace in Stickwick, now, that he had for a very long time. The only thing making his stomach twist and keeping him awake at night was Alec.

“Can I ask you something incredibly selfish?” Magnus asked, turning his head to look at Alec properly.

“You can ask me anything,” Alec told him, eyes clear and soft and earnest.

“Before I left, when we were shouting at each other, you told me you loved me.”

Alec exhaled slowly. “That’s not a question.”

Magnus pressed his lips together and chewed on the inside of his cheek, wondering how he could get the information he wanted without being inappropriately blunt. 

Then again, Alec was fairly blunt himself. Maybe that was the best technique. 

“Do you think we could try this again, one day?” Magnus asked at last, moving his hand from where it was still encased beneath Alec’s to gesture between them. “With our eyes open, this time.”

“One day,” Alec said, “I do. But I think we both need a little breathing room before we get there. You’ve made a huge life choice recently, and our history is going to cloud that. I don’t want us to end up back in the same place again.”

Oh, damn the man, why did he have to be so sensible? Why couldn’t he just grab Magnus’ face and kiss him until neither of them could breathe?

“You’re probably right,” Magnus agreed, with a soft sigh. “Maybe I’ll see you at Clary’s housewarming party, next weekend?”

Alec smiled that dazzling, white-teeth-sparkling-eyes smile, and Magnus felt his heart stutter. He’d missed that smile so damn much. His move back to Stickwick hadn’t been because of Alec at all, but god, if he wasn’t a glorious bonus.

 _I love him_ , Magnus thought suddenly. _I love him_.

“Yeah,” Alec said, oblivious to Magnus’ thoughts. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Good.” Magnus cleared his throat. “I should probably go, now. Let you–” he gestured vaguely at Alec “–get back to things.”

They rose together, and Alec walked him to the door. Darkness had fallen, and the rain had stopped, leaving a strange, humid sort of chill in the air. Magnus shivered a little at the bite of the night air, and thanked all the deities he didn’t believe him that he could get in a car and drive straight home, rather than having to walk ten minutes to a Tube station in the cold.

“Goodnight, Alexander,” Magnus said, taking a step towards his car to stop himself being tempted by Alec’s proximity. He wasn’t going to fuck things up by doing something stupid. Like give into his growing urge to kiss Alec senseless.

“Goodnight, Magnus,” Alec replied, with one of his small, tender smiles.

Magnus turned away before he could do anything foolish. He’d been offered an olive branch tonight. A chance to do things right, without any unspoken endings or painful complications. He damn well wasn’t going to mess it all up now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three cheers for Magnus beginning to sort out his crap!


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clary throws a housewarming party, Jace and Clary get quite drunk, and Magnus and Alec have a heart-to-heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: home

Never in his life had Magnus had a job where he commuted to and from work every day by car. In his mind, cars were dirty pollutants that were contributing to the death of the planet, and public transport was the way of the future. 

But Stickwick’s nearest city didn’t even have buses, let alone trains that went anywhere near the surrounding villages. So car it was. And, in truth, Magnus was rather enjoying the ability to play his music out loud, talk out loud to himself as he thought about the things he needed to do at work, and bring whatever he wanted with him without having to worry about whether he’d be able to carry it on a packed Tube train.

It also meant that, on the evening of Clary’s housewarming party, he didn’t have to leave work early to give himself time to go home and change. He could do it all - including his make up - from the comfort of the passenger seat. 

When he pulled up outside her house, he could already hear music playing inside. Through the windows, he could see people standing together, drinking and laughing.

“Magnus!” Clary shouted, clearly a little bit tipsy, when he opened the door. She threw her arms around his shoulders, having to stretch up on her toes to reach. “You made it!”

Laughing, Magnus patted her on the back and kissed her cheek. “Of course I did. Clary Fray seems to have become a true grownup before I have.”

The thought of Clary owning her her own was still staggering. Clary who, when Magnus had first met her at university when she was eighteen, had been skinny and scrappy and determined, in a sometimes-misguided sort of way. And now here she was, with a bloody mortgage.

“Shut up,” Clary told him, glaring. Magnus grinned. Some things never changed.

Inside, Meliorn was the first one to spot him, standing in a group with Jace, Maia and Isabelle. A smile broke out across his face and he waved Magnus over.

“Long time, no see,” Meliorn said, giving Magnus a brief hug. “It’s nice to have you back.”

“But don’t go rescuing any more stray dogs,” Maia warmed him, reaching out to hug him too. “Callie has already stolen the hearts of the entire damn village.”

“Technically that was Clary’s fault,” Magnus said.

“I concur!” Clary shouted from somewhere behind them. “Drink, Magnus?”

“G and T, please!”

“We’ve only got lime gin. I bought the wrong thing.”

Magnus shook his head fondly. “That’s perfectly fine.”

“You’re staying though,” Jace asked, one eyebrow raised, “this time?”

“Yeah.” Magnus smiled. “Turns out this place charmed me after all.”

He wasn’t going to air his problems to the whole of Clary’s party, but he was happy to poke fun at himself. These were his friends, after all. Even Jace.

“Well, I suppose we’ll have to try to live up to the standards of your London friends,” Isabelle said, as Clary came over with Magnus’ drink.

Magnus shook his head. “You already do.”

“Aw, Magnus.” Maia nudged him in the ribs and grinned. “Such a sap. You’ll be telling us next that Stickwick is where you were always meant to be.”

Magnus snorted as he took a sip of his drink. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

By the time the doorbell rang again, Magnus had his eyebrows raised as he tried not to laugh at Jace and Clary’s attempts to prove to their partners that they weren’t terrible dancers. Isabelle looked charmed. Meliorn was burying his face in his hands and groaning. Out of sheer mortification, Maia had retreated to stand with Simon and Raphael, who’d arrived a little after Magnus. 

Much as Magnus liked Raphael and Simon, his heart had fallen a little when Clary had opened the door and it had been them on the other side, and not the person Magnus was really looking forward to seeing. He hadn’t seen Alec for nearly two weeks—not even in passing in the village. Knowing that they were so close together now was torture.

When the doorbell rang again, Magnus immediately offered to get it. Isabelle and Meliorn shot him smirks: apparently his true motives were obvious. He didn’t care. Everybody already knew, anyway. It was a small town. Nothing was a secret.

But Stickwick didn’t have the insidious undertones of judgement that most small towns did. The gossip was, by and large, friendly. Nobody got overly embarrassed when the person they were discussing walked in. People admitted to their gossip because it wasn’t malicious. 

Alec stood on the cobbled pathway that lead up to the front door, dressed in slacks and a sweater over the top of his shirt. He looked like he’d come straight from work. 

“Oh.” Alec smiled. “Hi. You’re not Clary.”

“Clary is quite drunk,” Magnus said, stepping aside to let Alec in. It was just starting to rain, he noted. “I would hide that wine in the kitchen without letting her see it, if I were you.”

Alec laughed. “God, I’m not _that_ late.”

“Clary’s a lightweight. She is tiny.”

“That she is,” Alec agreed, following Magnus into the kitchen to deposit the bottle of wine. He perused the drinks already set out on the side and picked up a can of beer. Magnus barely refrained from wrinkling his nose. 

In the living room, their friends seemed to have given up on watching Jace and Clary make fools of themselves, and had instead collapsed onto chairs and the sofa and sprawled out onto the floor, listening intently to Maia as she told some animated story mostly with her hands. 

With all seats occupied, Magnus lowered himself to the floor, glass dangling from between his fingers as he reached for the crisp bowl. Alec sat down beside him, close enough for Magnus to feel his body heat.

“Ha!” Isabelle said suddenly, pointing a finger at Jace. “Told you it was Alec!”

“No way are you off from work this early,” Jace complained, chucking a peanut at Alec’s head and missing by a considerable margin. “It’s not even seven!”

Alec shook his head in exasperated amusement. “Why am I being betted on?”

“Because Jace bets on everything under the sun for no conceivable reason,” Raphael said, sounding incredibly bored.

“It’s true.” Meliorn, sitting on the sofa while Jace was on the floor with his knees bent up, leant over to pick something out of Jace’s hair. “You even betted on when I’d ask you to move in with me, as I recall.”

“And I won!”

Meliorn sighed. “I have no idea why we fell in love.”

A look of horror spread across Jace’s face, as though he thought Meliorn was being serious, and he turned around to stare at him. Meliorn huffed out a laugh and patted Jace’s cheek. 

“I’m kidding, love.”

“You better be.”

“I think that’s enough beer for you,” Meliorn said, shaking his head. “You’re not a fun drunk.”

“I’m always fun!”

“You’re an insecure pouty drunk,” Isabelle said. “Anyone fancy a game of werewolf?”

***

Just after eleven, Alec announced that he needed to be heading off, because he was covering weekend appointments so had to be up in the morning.

“We should probably go too,” Simon said to Raphael. “We’ve got to drop everyone home.”

“I’ll take half,” Alec offered. “I’ve only had two beers all night. Work tomorrow, and all.”

“Cheers, mate,” Simon said, flashing him a grateful grin. He cleared his throat. “Alright! Party’s over! If you want a lift home from someone sober, get over here!”

“Maia and I are staying here,” Isabelle said, and pointed a finger at Jace. “Do not make any stupid comments.”

“I wasn’t going to!”

Isabelle narrowed her eyes suspiciously, and then deflated. “Sometimes I still forget that Meliorn’s made you less of a dick.”

“That implies that I’m still a bit of a dick.”

Isabelle shrugged diplomatically. “You said it, not me.”

Magnus half-expected Alec to say that he’d give Meliorn and Jace a lift home, and leave Magnus to the mercy of Raphael and Simon, who would, undoubtedly, have many comments to make about his recent life choices. 

But he didn’t. Instead, he tossed Magnus a smile and said, “Want a ride?”

 _God, that smile_. Magnus would have done anything in the world for that smile. The thought didn’t terrify him anywhere near as much as it probably should have.

Magnus tried not to sound too much like he’d just swallowed his tongue, and said, “Yes, thank you. That would be great.”

After saying their goodbyes, Magnus piled into Alec’s car, mourning the fact that he’d have to walk back to get his own at some point over the weekend, and shivered. It was May, but nights were still cold, more often than not. 

“Here.” Alec turned the heat up and pointed it at Magnus. “You can pick the music. Fair warning, the radio choice out here is very limited.”

“I noticed,” Magnus said. “You got any CDs in here?”

Alec’s eyebrows shot up as he began backing out while Simon, Raphael, Meliorn and Jace were still faffing in the driveway. “I’m surprised you don’t dismiss CDs as a relic of the noughties.”

“I do,” Magnus said, with a laugh, “but I assumed Bluetooth wouldn’t have arrived here yet.”

“It has, actually.” Alec gestured at where his phone laid behind the gearstick. “Have at it.”

They ended up listening to Alec’s surprisingly extensive Pink collection, singing along badly to _So What?_ and dissolving into giggles when they got the lyrics horrifically wrong. Alec was smiling so widely that the corners of his eyes were crinkled and the straight white row of his teeth was exposed, and it took all of Magnus’ self-control not to lean over the console and press a kiss to the soft apple of his cheek. 

“What?” Alec asked, taking his eyes off the road for a moment to glance over at Magnus. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Oh, I think you know why, Alexander.”

Alec’s lips quirked up. “Why do you call me that?”

“I...don’t know.” Magnus studied his profile carefully. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No. I like it.” A wry chuckle left him. “Although you’re the only person I’d ever accept it from. My parents used to call me Alexander when they were angry or disapproving or whatever.”

“I’m not sure that’s exactly the association I was going for,” Magnus quipped.

“You say it differently.” Alec shot him a smile. “It sounds nice coming from you. Doesn’t make me flinch like it does when anybody else says it.”

“Well. Good.”

In the distance, he could see the turning for his road. Alec checked his mirrors - for foxes, perhaps? - and indicated, and then he was pulling up outside Magnus’ house. How Alec knew which one was Magnus’, Magnus had no idea. Probably because no secrets could be kept in a small town, and Magnus moving back in had apparently been the talk of the town for a whole fortnight. 

Alec turned to him. A small smile curled at one corner of his lips, softening his eyes and making him look oh so very kissable. It was torture. Especially when he ducked his head to catch Magnus’ gaze better and lowered his voice to speak. 

“I’m glad I saw you tonight,” he said. 

“What, so you could vehemently accuse me of being a werewolf when I was a poor innocent villager?”

Alec snorted. “Sorry. But no. I meant what I said the other week. That we should take things slow, and you should have space to see how you feel about this now you’re actually here without me complicating things.”

“You were never complicated,” Magnus told him, wistfulness filling his chest and twisting at his face. “Being with you was easy. Leaving you hurt, but you didn’t make leaving more complicated. I was dead-set on it. Nothing you ever said would have changed my mind.”

“You had to work it out for yourself.” Alec nodded. “I know that now. I think I probably knew it then, too, but I wanted to try anyway.”

“Let’s not drag that up again.”

“No, you’re right. But taking things slow doesn’t have to mean that we never see each other.”

Magnus sighed. “I’ve been back here for two and a half weeks, now. Isn’t that slow enough?”

Alec let out a laugh and shook his head. “You want to go and jump right back in?”

“To bed?” Magnus suggested innocently. “Yes, please.”

“Shameless,” Alec told him, but Magnus saw the way his pupils dilated a little. He’d take it as a compliment and nothing more. He could be mature about this whole situation. 

Well. For a limited number of weeks, at least.

“My point is just that I didn’t mean to imply that I wanted to impose restrictions on how often we could see each other, or anything like that.”

“So if I asked you if you wanted to get a coffee one evening next week...?”

Alec grinned. “I would love that. Maybe even somewhere in the city. Because much as I love him, deep down, I don’t really want to get coffee with you at Simon’s café. Not this time, at any rate.”

“I know a place,” Magnus said. “I could meet you at my very not-swanky office.”

“Not quite up to London standards?” Alec teased him.

“No.” Magnus sighed mournfully. “When I’m less tipsy, I’ll show you a picture of the view from my office window. It was stunning. My blood pressure at the time, not so much.”

“Don’t tell me. It’ll send my blood pressure sky-rocketing just hearing about it.”

A smirk settled on Magnus’ face. Now that was an invitation offered up on a silver platter. 

“It was one-sixty-three over ninety-five after my breakdown.”

“Oh my god!” Alec covered his ears, a look of absolute horror on his face as he stared at Magnus like he’d just spouted off a line of swear words in front of a small child. “What the fuck! Just from stress?”

“Just from stress.”

“Are you sure? Did somebody check?”

Magnus laughed. “I was sent home with a blood pressure monitor. It came down almost as soon as I was away from work. When I first came here, it was one-twenty-something over eighty odd.”

“Thank god for that.” Alec still looked harrowed. “I feel sorry for the poor GP who saw that number come up.”

“She was quite alarmed,” Magnus agreed cheerfully. “But that’s all over now. It probably went back up when I was in London, but I didn’t check. Maybe I should have done.”

“Probably better for _my_ blood pressure that we end this part of the conversation now.”

Magnus grinned. “You’re too easy, darling.”

“Shut up.”

“So. How about Tuesday?”

“I’m off on Tuesday, actually, so that’s perfect.”

“Excellent. Well, I’d better let you go, then. I wouldn’t want to be the cause of a tired, grumpy doctor.”

Alec groaned. “No, that’ll be the sleepless night I’m about to have over this older lady who just will not stay on her bloody medication. She keeps fucking with the doses! Oh, doctor, they were making me feel funny so I stopped taking them. When I specifically told her that it’s dangerous to just stop taking those pills! And, worse, Oh, doctor, these ones work a charm, I’ve been taking double. No! Do not do that! You’re tough as old boots but normal people end up in A&E when they do that! Stop! Please listen to me!”

Magnus gave up on trying to nod sympathetically, and gave into his overwhelming desire to burst into laughter at calm, collected Doctor Lightwood getting so frustrated about the disobedience of an elderly woman.

“Just turn on that Doctor Lightwood charm,” Magnus advised him. “Flutter those eyelashes.”

Alec shot Magnus a deadpan look. “Magnus, this is Stickwick. She’s gay.”

Magnus shrugged. “That won’t make her immune. Trust me. Even Clary admitted you were hot when you bandaged up her ankle. She never admits that men are hot.”

“Flirting is not going to help me with this. The woman is so stubborn it makes me want to pull my hair out.”

Magnus made a wounded noise in the back of his throat. ”No, don’t do that, you have such nice hair.”

Alec rolled his eyes, but his eyes were fond. “Time for you to go and have a large glass of water.”

“I’m not that drunk.”

“Right.” 

Alec leant across the console, and, for a terrifying, panicky moment, Magnus thought that he was going to kiss him. His breath probably smelt horrible and his lips were chapped and he was wildly unprepared for this situation. 

Instead, Alec’s lips pressed softly against his cheekbone. The touch lingered for a moment, the heat of his lips spreading out like ripples on water to warm Magnus’ skin. A breath left Magnus in a quiet exhale, and his eyelashes fluttered, and, too soon, Alec pulled back. 

“Goodnight, Magnus.”

“Goodnight, Alexander,” Magnus said. He smiled, a small, private smile that was reserved for a very small group of people. “I’ll see you on Tuesday.”

“I look forward to it,” Alec said.

Magnus did, too. So much that he daydreamed about it while he was filling a pint glass with water and taking off his makeup and stripping out of his clothes and crawling naked beneath the sheets. And, when he fell asleep, it was with the image of Alec’s lips curving into that bright, lopsided grin in his mind’s eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only two days left! I won’t lie, I am ready to NOT write several thousand words every day 😅 But I have had so much fun writing this! I hope you all enjoyed the chapter!
> 
> You can find me on [Tumblr](http://notcrypticbutcoy.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/notcrypticlu?lang=en)
> 
> Much love,  
> Lu <3


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clary takes Isabelle to dinner, everyone attends a barbecue, and someone has a romantic dance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: campfire

“I’m thinking about setting up a shop.” 

Isabelle raised her eyebrows, taking a sip of the unnecessarily expensive win they’d ordered in the fancy restaurant they were currently enjoying dinner in. On a whim, Clary had decided to surprise Isabelle with dinner reservations somewhere nice. She knew Isabelle had had a difficult week with an emotionally draining case involving a beloved family dog and two heart-broken children. Initially, she was planning on a nice homemade dinner and a quiet night in consisting of whatever Isabelle wanted to do. Then she’d realised that they did that sort of thing often anyway, and, besides, Isabelle liked getting dressed up and going to places. Working on farms and being elbow-deep in animal guts wasn’t conducive to wearing beautiful things.

So Clary had spent the morning desperately Googling to find a sufficiently nice place to take Isabelle to. There was a hotel room, too, with spa access, but she hadn’t told Isabelle about that part yet.

“Any particular sort of shop?” Isabelle asked, swirling her wine elegantly.

“An art shop. Somewhere selling high quality and specialist products. I noticed there wasn’t really anywhere like that for miles around.”

It was possible, if she managed to get it off the ground, that it would be a place from which to advertise and sell her own pieces, too. But that was for later. 

“You want to set up in Stickwick?”

“No. There’s a place for rent in one of the bigger towns, nearer the city. High traffic passing through, too, and a good tourist industry.”

“You’ve thought this through,” Isabelle said, sounding impressed.

“Not entirely,” Clary admitted. “But Magnus said he’d help me with some of the legal red tape, and we’ve got a friend in London, Ragnor, who works in finance, and he said he could put me in touch with some people...” She shrugged. “It’s just a thought right now. But it’s something more long-term than teaching. It’s something I’d want to do long-term.”

“Well.” Isabelle raised her wine glass. “Here’s to the future.”

“To the future.”

Their glasses clinked together with a note that even sounded expensive. Not quite as expensive as the steak they’d gawped at on the menu, but still. It was just as well Clary had savings, because the school was paying her a day rate to work for the summer term, but her contract didn’t start until September.

Thank god for Luke and his obsession with good money habits. And his repeated warnings about credit card debt.

“Do we want dessert?” Isabelle mused, picking up the menu the waiter had dropped off. “I’m stuffed by I’d really like chocolate.”

“Well...” Clary leant forward across the table, running the tip of her index finger around the rim of her wine glass. “The couple over there are sharing what looks like a pretty damn good piece of chocolate tart, or...”

  
“Or?” Isabelle’s pupils had dilated, almost swallowing the iris.

“Or, we could go back to the hotel I’ve booked, and see if they let you eat dessert in the spa.”

It took Isabelle a visible moment to digest what Clary had said. Her lips parted and her eyes flickered back and forth between Clary’s, and Clary smiled, leaning back in her chair to take a satisfied sip of her wine. It took a lot to render Isabelle Lightwood speechless.

“I love you,” Isabelle said at last, with such feeling that Clary’s heart ached with the desire to sweep everything off of the table, lean across it and kiss her until she was breathless and moaning and couldn’t even remember her own name. 

Later, Clary thought. Later.

“I love you too,” Clary said instead, and reached a hand across the table to grasp Isabelle’s. “I thought you could probably do with a luxury break.”

“You’re the best girlfriend ever,” Isabelle told her, smiling. “Shall we get the bill?”

“Sounds perfect.”

***

The first day of June was marked by a scorching hot day. Sun blazed down on the residents of Stickwick from a cloudless blue sky, hindered only by the merest wisps of white floating along to provide a brief moment of reprieve. 

According to what was apparently a long-held Stickwick tradition, a barbecue night was due to be held in one of the large fields belonging to a branch of the Branwell family—the nicer branch, Magnus was told, who historically supported Stickwick’s rainbow branding.

Magnus arrived on his own. It was long past eight o’clock, but the sun was still up, casting its hazy warmth across the village. He could see Jace on the far side of the field, clearly in charge of the evening’s food provisions, instructing a group in a display of competence that Meliorn was watching from afar with an amused, appreciative look on his face as he sipped at a can of cider. 

“Nobody should look as attractive as you do in thirty degree heat,” a low voice said from behind him. 

“Alexander,” Magnus said, a smile splitting his face. He didn’t turn around. “I suppose boys as white as you don’t deal too well with the summer.”

Alec chuckled lowly. “Oh, that’s how we’re going to play it?”

“Mmm, I think so.” Magnus looked over his shoulder to meet Alec’s gaze. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Alec held up two cans. “Beer or cider?”

Magnus scoffed and reached for the cider. “When have you ever known me to drink beer? Heinous invention. I’m sure all boys are conditioned into thinking it’s nice.” He cracked the seal on his can of cider and shot Alec a smirk. “Luckily, that was never much of a problem for fifteen year old me.”

Lesser men would have laughed uncomfortably at such a joke. Alec didn’t. He rolled his eyes, grabbed Magnus’ hand, and led him over to where a group of people were putting together a campfire, complete with roasting sticks and several enormous bags of marshmallows in every colour of the rainbow. 

“How’ve you been?” Alec asked, taking a swig of his beer and bending to sit down in the grass. He apparently didn’t care that the grass was six inches long and probably full of all sorts of horrifying insects that would bite them to death. Magnus had sprayed himself down with foul-smelling insect repellant, but he was still suspicious.

“Since you saw me three days ago?” Magnus peered down at the grass and lowered himself down gingerly. “I’ve been fine, darling.”

“You said you had some—” Alec waved a hand vaguely “– _thing_ at work. A big thing that sounded mildly terrifying.”

Charmed, Magnus let out a laugh. “It went well. I’m stunned you remembered.”

Alec shrugged as though it wasn’t a big deal, but, to Magnus, it was. People didn’t just remember things. Not like that. Alec listened to him, but, more than that, he heard him and understood him like few people ever had. 

“I’m glad it went well,” Alec said. “Is it bad that I really, really want to eat the marshmallows?”

“Do not eat the fucking marshmallows, Doctor Lightwood!” a woman shouted from where she was carefully layering wood to build the fire. Hastily, she added, “With all due respect.”

Alec choked on a laugh, covering his mouth just in time to stop himself spitting beer all over Magnus. “Noted, Ollie! And no respect is due.”

“Rubbish,” Ollie said fiercely. “You saved my wife’s life. You deserve my respect. But you might lose it if you even look at those marshmallows the wrong way.”

Alec shook his head in obvious amusement, and saluted. “Got it. I’ll wait my turn.”

Ollie narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m watching you, Doctor.”

An incoherent holler from where Jace was manning the barbecues caught their attention, so they left Ollie and the others to their fire-making, and headed over. They were walking closer than was normal among friends, hands and shoulders brushing every now and then, but neither of them made any move to do anything about it.

They’d been stuck in this dance for weeks now, and it was slowly torturing Magnus. Alec flirted, and he touched Magnus in ways that could have been platonic but then lingered for just a little too long, and sometimes his voice dropped an octave and he stared at Magnus with those deep, endless eyes, and it was all Magnus could do not to push him against the nearest flat surface. 

They joined the line for food behind Maia, who turned around and smiled at them.

“I’m glad you two have sorted out your shit,” she said. “You look good together.”

Taken aback by her bluntness, Magnus opened his mouth to explain that they weren’t actually together, but a hand settled on the small of his back, stunning him into silence for long enough for Alec to speak first.

“We’re being a bit less haphazard about it this time around.”

Maia appraised them with an inscrutable expression, and nodded. “Good. I’m happy for you. You’re gonna have to work pretty hard to beat Stickwick’s new favourite couple, though.”

She jerked her chin behind them, and Magnus turned to see Clary and Isabelle strolling through, hand in hand, with Callie trotting beside them. They were laughing, eyes bright and muscles loose, love saturating them both.

A swell of contentment crested and split inside Magnus’ chest. He’d never seen Clary look so happy as she was here, with Isabelle and Callie. 

“That used to be us,” Simon said wistfully. Magnus hadn’t noticed him appear, so distracted by the sight of his friend. “Now we’ve been overtaken. We need to up our game, Raph.”

Raphael squeezed Simon’s hand. “I’m not worried about the competition, love.”

Simon looked at Raphael as though it was the most romantic thing he’d ever heard.

“Hey!” Alec was frowning at them both. “You’ve got food already! You sneaky bastards, how did you manage to get that so quickly?”

Simon bowed flamboyantly. “Because I made it. Jace let the cooks get first pick.”

Alec huffed. “The dickhead didn’t even ask me to help.”

“With love,” Maia said, “that’ll be because you’re late to everything.”

“I can’t help it! When patients decide to spend nine minutes of their ten minute consultation telling me about their dry skin, and only as they’re practically out of the door inform me that they’ve also had crushing chest pain, there’s not a lot I can do!”

“It’s okay, darling,” Magnus said soothingly, patting Alec’s forearm and trying not to laugh too much, lest Alec’s pout get any more pronounced. “We know. You’re a very dedicated clinician.”

Alec huffed. “See if I’ll treat any of you when you’re sick. So ungrateful.”

“Naw.” Maia grinned at him. “You love us way too much to let us die, Lightwood.”

“Mm. Maybe you three.” He gestured at Magnus, Maia and Raphael. “I might sacrifice Simon.”

“Hey!” Simon protested, looking genuinely put-out, until Alec’s severe stare dissipated to be replaced by a smirk. “I hate you.”

“I know you do,” Alec said, laughing.

Simon and Raphael wandered off to talk to another group of people, and Maia got herself embroiled in a fiery debate about barbecue techniques with Jace as he began serving her food, so Magnus leant in close to Alec and lowered his voice. 

“I have a question.”

Alec glanced over at him. “As long as it’s not medical...”

Magnus arched an eyebrow.

“People are always telling me about their medical problems at parties. It gets old.”

“Ah.” Magnus smiled. “No. It’s about Stickwick. How exactly did Stickwick become England’s rainbow town?”

“Supposedly, the guy who owned most of the land before the Branwells bought it lived in his estate with another man. This was back in the mid-twentieth century, so, obviously, it was very illegal. The village’s people liked him, so they protected his secret. Drove off people sticking their noses in, came up with stories to explain odd habits, that sort of thing.”

“That’s...bizarrely sweet.”

“It is,” Alec agreed. “You’d have to ask someone who’s lived here for a lot longer than I have if you want all the details, but I think it all stemmed from that. The whole village came together to protect a man and his partner, for decades, so the sentiment was passed down from generation to generation.”

Magnus wondered what it must have felt like, to live in a world that so hated and so feared your very existence that it took an entire village of deceit and fantasy just to let you exist authentically. If so much progress had been made in the few decades since that had been the reality for every LGBT person in the country, and most of the world, he had hope that, one day, no person would ever have to feel the shame or the terror he had. 

“I think Stickwick would still do that,” Alec mused, as Maia got tired of bickering with Jace, leaving space for Magnus and Alec to grab a paper plate and peruse the food on offer. “Rally around someone to protect them from external evils.”

“I think you’re right,” Magnus agreed. “That’s one of the reasons I like this place.”

“One of them?”

“Well.” Magnus stretched out his fingers to brush them fleetingly against the back of Alec’s hand. “There are a few.”

***

By the time darkness fell, the barbecue food was long gone, and Simon had picked up his guitar, filling the night air with music. People were gathered around the campfire, singing along to songs they knew and dancing with friends and partners. Children - those who hadn’t fallen asleep yet - were watching the dancing flames of the fire with wide, entranced eyes. Despite his earlier desperation to eat them, Alec had patiently crouched down with a gaggle of small children to show them how to roast marshmallows without burning themselves.

Alec had the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows, exposing the length of his forearms as he danced with his sister, both of them laughing. Magnus leant back on his elbows, content to watch Alec from afar. 

One day, they’d get there again. For now, Magnus enjoyed the time he spent with Alec.

As though he could tell that Magnus was thinking about him, Alec turned his head to catch Magnus’ gaze. The smile didn’t slip from his face, but it shifted into something softer.

Isabelle whispered something in his ear. Alec nodded at her. He pressed a kiss to her cheek and let her slip from his grasp; she wandered back over to Clary, barefoot, heels long since discarded, and collapsed on the grass beside her. 

Alec arched an eyebrow at Magnus and held out a hand in invitation. It was one Magnus couldn’t possibly refuse.

“Have I told you,” Alec began, as Magnus’ fingers slid through his, “that you look positively distracting tonight?”

Magnus hummed, letting his free hand rest on Alec’s shoulder as Alec spun them in a circle in time to the rhythmic strumming of Simon’s guitar.

“You may have mentioned it.”

“I’m really glad you decided to stay,” Alec said softly, gazing down at Magnus so intently that Magnus was caught between a desire to look away and an inability to even conceive of such a thing. “I know it’s selfish, but even in those weeks when you were gone, I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Magnus told him, with a small, melancholic smile. “I’m glad I came back, too. There are things I miss about London, but I feel at peace here.”

“Yeah. I know exactly what you mean.”

Alec let go of Magnus’ waist and lifted his hand to brush something off Magnus’ cheek with his thumb. The touch was so light, so careful, that Magnus felt goosebumps rise across his skin. He battled down a shiver. Alec would know exactly what that response meant. The night was still warm and hazy, the buzz of crickets just audible over the sound of the music and chatter coming from around the campfire.

“I know you wanted to take things slow,” Magnus murmured, looking up at Alec from beneath his lashes, “but I consider this glacial, and I promise I’m confident in my decision to be here not to have my judgement clouded, and—”

“Magnus.” Alec looked a little amused. “You’re rambling.”

Magnus took a deep, calming breath. He did not ramble. He was suave and smooth and confident and was definitely not rendered a mess in front of one Alec Lightwood. Even if their first ever meeting had been at a time when Magnus had surrendered all of his dignity to a lethal muddy hill. 

“I love you,” Magnus said, holding Alec’s gaze unwaveringly. 

Something so soft it almost hurt to look at spread across Alec’s face, saturating his eyes until they turned to liquid. Magnus didn’t feel nervous. Perhaps he should have, but he didn’t. Alec’s truth was written plainly on his face for all to see. It was only Magnus holding them both back. 

“I love you too,” Alec said, lips curving up. 

“I’m going to kiss you now. No more of this taking it slow crap.”

Alec laughed. “Oh, yes, that’s very romantic.”

“Shut up,” Magnus told him, curling a hand around the back of his neck and drawing him into a kiss. 

Their half-hearted swaying slowed to a stop as both Alec’s arms slid around Magnus’ waist, pulling him closer. A palm pressed into his back, fingers splaying out, and Alec made a soft noise in the back of his throat as Magnus pressed a thumb gently into the sensitive skin of his neck. 

Their kiss was soft. Slow. Refamiliarising themselves with each other rather than learning it all anew. It felt as close to perfect as anything could be. It felt like coming home. 

And, when they broke apart just enough to grin at each other, Magnus felt his heart flutter at the way Alec brushed his thumb over the bow of Magnus’ lips and pressed a kiss to the point between his brows. 

“I love you,” Alec murmured against his skin.

Magnus didn’t even try to battle his growing smile. “I love you too, Alexander.”


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: pride

_3 Years Later_

  
“Babe, we’re going to be late!”

Magnus huffed at his reflection, tweaking his jacket and smoothing his hands down the front to press out any invisible creases that may have been lingering. This was an argument they had all the time. Once, Magnus would have been on Alec’s side, but after four years in Stickwick, he’d discovered that ten minutes late was considered on time. There was no point in being on time to anything. 

“Magnus!” Alec shouted up the stairs. “Seriously! We’ve got pretty important jobs this afternoon!”

“Calm your pretty little head,” Magnus told him, appearing at the top of the stairs with two ring boxes. “You forgot these, in your rush to be there before even the brides.”

“Oh, crap.” Alec let out a self-deprecating laugh. “Thanks.”

“Mm.” Magnus tucked one of the boxes in Alec’s trouser pocket, set his palms on Alec’s chest, and tilted his chin up to kiss him. “You do know that Clary and Isabelle are going to be so busy being disgustingly sappy in the dressing room that they won’t be ready by the time we get there, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” Alec smiled sheepishly and rubbed a hand up the length of Magnus’ arm. “But if we turn up we have a legitimate reason to tell them to hurry up.”

Magnus shook his head fondly. “I’m sure your mother and Luke have that under control.”

“Mother and father of the brides?” Alec asked, arching an eyebrow dubiously. “I find that unlikely.”

Once they got to the wedding venue, they were ushered upstairs by Maia, who looked more stressed than Magnus had ever seen her. Frankly, he’d thought Maia was unshakable. Weddings, apparently, were about the only thing that could fracture her cool, calm demeanour. 

“You’re going to miss those sunset photos you wanted,” Alec barked, tossing Magnus a grin and a wink as he opened the door and plastered an unimpressed scowl on his face. “You were supposed to be downstairs ten minutes ago.”

Isabelle, standing in front of a floor length mirror in her figure-hugging dress with her hair pinned into a stunning up-do, shot her brother a glare.

“Don’t make her any more stressed,” Isabelle said, gesturing at Clary, who was sitting in front of a vanity looking a little pale. “We’ve already had Simon in here.”

Magnus snorted, and walked over to stand behind Clary. He squeezed her shoulders and caught her gaze in the mirror. 

“No need to be stressed, biscuit. Everything has been planned to perfection.”

“Technically,” Alec said pointedly, “the plan is running ten minutes behind schedule.”

“Darling,” Magnus said mildly, turning to look at Alec. “Alexander. Love of my life. _Hush_.”

That drew a laugh out of Clary. She unfroze beneath Magnus’ hands, took a deep breath, and let it out in a rush, looking much steadier once she had. She reached for the earrings set out beside a quantity of make-up brushes that even Magnus found quite terrifying.

“Are you ready, Iz?” Alec asked. 

“Yep.”

“I am too,” Clary announced. “I just need my—”

“Shoes.” Isabelle held a pair of strappy silver heels up. “Here.”

“Right.” Clary smiled brightly. “Thanks, babe.”

***

When Clary had imagined her wedding as a child, prompted usually by her mother pointing to pretty wedding dresses in shops they passed, she hadn’t imagined that it would be in the middle of a field. Admittedly, they’d dressed the field up - with a classic white wedding arch decorated with roses, rows of chairs for the guests, and a truly ridiculous quantity of petals - but it was still a field.

Nor, frankly, had she imagined that she would be marrying a woman, let alone that she would be doing so in a place famous for being England’s rainbow town. 

But, as she stood just out of sight behind a large oak tree, listening to the music and peering around to watch Isabelle walk down the aisle of petals to stand with Alec in front of the arch, she thought that anything else would have been a tragedy. This was the only wedding she wanted. This wedding, to this woman.

“Ready?” Luke asked, squeezing her forearm. 

Clary smiled. “Yeah. Ready.”

She didn’t remember much of the actual ceremony. She remembered walking up to Isabelle, smiling so brightly that she outshone the sun, just beginning to set behind her, casting a soft orange glow across the place. She remembered taking Isabelle’s hand and gripping on tight.

She remembered turning to the officiator, but she didn’t remember anything that was said. Nor did she remember saying her vows - only the soft, fond look in Isabelle’s eyes as she read them out, feeling so full of love she thought she might just burst with it. 

And then she was taking a ring from Magnus and sliding it onto Isabelle’s left hand, and Isabelle was doing the same, and then she was being told that Isabelle was her wife, and she couldn’t bear to wait any longer to slide her arms around her waist and kiss her. 

They were both laughing as they pulled away to cheers from their guests. She could see her mother and Luke wiping away tears in the front row, and Simon just behind them cheering louder than anyone else, with Raphael beside him looking faintly embarrassed. 

“I love you,” Isabelle murmured in her ear.

Clary pressed a kiss to her cheek and took Isabelle’s hand in hers. “I love you too.”

“Now cake?”

“Oh, yeah.” Clary grinned. “Now cake. I didn’t spend two hours picking out the best one only to let this sorry lot eat it all.”

“We heard that,” Maia said, from where she’d joined Magnus just behind them. She’d spent the last four months insisting that Magnus had to be referred to as a bridesmaid—a title which Magnus had wholeheartedly embraced, much to Maia’s astonishment and everyone else’s amusement.

“Aren’t bridesmaids and groomsmen supposed to shack up?” Isabelle asked, arching an eyebrow at Maia and Magnus.

“Well, as there’s no groomsmen, here, that won’t be a problem,” Magnus said, with a self-satisfied smirk. “I take my bridesmaid duties very seriously, you know.”

“Right now, your duty is to stop eye-fucking my brother and find out where they’re hiding the cake,” Isabelle said.

“We set up all the food behind the trees, in the shade.” Magnus pointed across the field. “And, really, can you blame me?”

“Cake,” Clary said pointedly, drawing Isabelle back down the aisle before she and Magnus could get side-tracked. She’d been too nervous to eat lunch, and now she was starving. If cake was further than three minutes into her future, she couldn’t be held responsible for her actions.

Isabelle shook her head, smiling. “Come on, then. Cake for my wife.”

And, yes, Clary was desperate for some food. But, frankly, as long as she got to call Isabelle Lightwood her wife, everything else was secondary. 

***

After so many photos even Magnus was a little tired of it, someone turned on the music, and the chairs were moved, and Alec was grabbing his hand and spinning him around, his grin bright and easy.

“You look exceptionally handsome in that suit, Doctor Lightwood,” Magnus said, trailing the flat of his hand down the lapel. “It’s almost enough to tempt a man to do any number of inappropriate things with the bride’s brother...”

“Oh?” A smirk caught at one corner of Alec’s lips. He tugged Magnus a little closer, so they were chest-to-chest, and leant in so that his mouth was right by Magnus’ ear. “And what exactly would I have to do fully convince you?”

Magnus hummed. “Oh, I don’t know. Let your amazing boyfriend buy a cat?”

Alec groaned and dropped his forehead against Magnus’ shoulder. “ _Magnus_.”

“What?” Magnus asked, innocently. “You’re very busy, and I’m very busy, and neither of us is a vet, so a dog wouldn’t really be suitable. But a cat? Cats are independent. Cats need food and affection when they demand it but at no other time. Cats also do not need training. They come ready made.”

Alec choked out a laugh at that, and lifted his head enough to fix Magnus with a _really?_ sort of look. “ _They come ready made_?”

Magnus shrugged unrepentantly. “I think it got my point across.”

Alec sighed. Magnus reached up to card his fingers gently through Alec’s hair. The way Alec narrowed his eyes told Magnus that he knew exactly what Magnus was doing, but he didn’t make any move to pull away. 

“I hate that you know my weak spots,” Alec mumbled. “Fine. Get a cat. See if I care.”

Magnus brightened. “Thank you!”

Magnus predicted that, within approximately five minutes, Alec would decide that whichever cat Magnus found to bring home was the most precious and adorable thing he’d ever seen, and would fiercely defend it against anyone who dared say a bad word against it, and then Magnus would be able to hold an _I told you so_ over his head for all eternity. 

“You could ask me to do anything in the world and I would,” Alec grumbled, and—

Well. He was saying it in that grumpy voice of his, but it made Magnus’ heart warm anyway. He already knew that he and Alec would do anything for each other, but it was still nice to hear it out loud. Not that Alec was reserved in his declarations of love. Quite the opposite.

If Alec ever asked Magnus to marry him, Magnus was quite sure he wouldn’t survive the proposal. And the _vows_ —god, perhaps it was better for Magnus’ health if they never got married. He’d melt.

Which was why Magnus couldn’t help his surprise when Alec, still swaying to the music, said, casually, “Would you ever want to get married?”

Magnus blinked. “I’m not opposed to the idea. Might as well complete the gay agenda by ruining the sanctity of marriage.” 

“Ah, yes.” Alec rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Get married just to spite the heterosexuals.”

“Well.” Magnus shrugged. “They’ve spited us quite enough.”

Alec’s expression softened. “I know.”

“What about you? Would you ever want to get married?”

“To you?” Alec asked, eyes locked unwaveringly on Magnus’ with that single-minded intensity that always made Magnus feel like Alec could see right to his very soul. “One day.”

Magnus had to look away. His heart was going to jump right out of his chest with how hard it was beating. The love and adoration Alec always showed him was overwhelming, sometimes; he didn’t know what to do with it all. He barely knew what to do with all the love he had for Alec.

“Hey.” Alec’s hand skated up his arm and over his shoulder to cup his jaw, thumb brushing the skin of his cheek tenderly. “It’s okay if you don’t want that. I love our life just how it is.”

“I do want that, some day,” Magnus confessed. “It’s just...”

Alec waited for a long, heavy moment, watching him while Magnus glanced down between them. Admitting his insecurities wasn’t something he found easy, no matter who he was confessing them to. Not even to Alec, as supportive and non-judgemental as he always was. 

“I’m not upset,” Magnus said, finally. “Or uncomfortable. It’s just that I spent so much of my life thinking that nobody would ever want to marry someone like me that there was a time when I’d resigned myself to the fact that it would never happen.” He smiled wryly. “Before I met you, in fact.”

“Someone like you?” Alec repeated. He raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “I don’t know who ever made you believe that you’re anything but a catch, but I’d like to meet them. Just to talk.”

The glint in his eye made Magnus laugh, the heaviness easing just a little. Just enough for Magnus to feel like he could breathe again. 

“I think you’d have to beat up half of the world,” Magnus said, shaking his head and shooting Alec a fond smile. “It was one thing to feel hatred from the rest of the world, but then I found the LGBT community, and I began to feel pride in who I was, but then I discovered that there’s hatred within our own community, to. I mean, a lot of white gay men in particular...”

“Racist, transphobic, obsessed with dicks and hookups and _so did you know I can bench press three times your weight_?” Alec asked, imitating every basic London man who had an Instagram page full of gym selfies Magnus had ever met.

“Right,” Magnus agreed with a laugh. “Exactly. So I didn’t exactly find it easy to find people who were interested in being in a long-term relationship with me. I mean, I had good relationships with good people, obviously, but I went through a period where it seemed like everyone I met turned out to be a complete dick.”

“More the fool them,” Alec told him, pressing a kiss to his nose. Magnus tried not to scrunch his face up, but, judging by Alec’s laugh when he pulled back, he didn’t succeed. “Seriously, Magnus. Fuck them. Fuck all of them. You’re beautiful in every way that matters and every way that doesn’t. Anyone who can’t see that clearly doesn’t see you at all, so they don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t make me cry,” Magnus warned him. “I’m not wearing waterproof mascara.”

“I want to spend the rest of my life you with, Magnus Bane.”

“Fuck.” Magnus let out a watery laugh and let go of Alec with one hand to wipe at his eyes before the damage could get too unattractive. “Damn you and your sappy poetic words.”

A small smile caught at Alec’s lips, eyes so soft Magnus could have drowned in them. “I’ll write you poetry for the rest of ours lives, if that’s what you want.”

“I want you for as long as I can have you,” Magnus said, smiling right back and hoping that he didn’t look like too much of a mess. “But I might need a year or two to get used to the idea that you want me, too.”

“I’ll remind you every time you forget,” Alec promised him. “Every time you need to hear it. Every time you want to.”

“That’ll be a lot of times,” Magnus warned him, only half joking. “You’ll get bored quickly.”

“No,” Alec said, with such sincerity that Magnus had to swallow around a lump in his throat. “I won’t. I love you, Magnus.”

“I know you do,” Magnus said, taking Alec’s face between his palms and reaching up to press their foreheads together. “I know. I love you too.”

“Well, then. It’s not much of a stretch to know that I want to love you for the rest of my days.”

“Oh, Alexander.” Magnus chuckled, pulling back just far enough to look Alec in the eye. “You really have no idea.”

He kissed him before Alec could question him on what exactly that meant. Magnus didn’t entirely know, himself. Alec made him feel so much, and he didn’t always understand it.

But that was okay, he thought, as he kissed the man he loved at his best friend’s wedding to her lovely new wife. He was happy. His life was good. Whatever struggles he’d had in years gone by, he’d found contentment in a town built on Pride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I blame the sappiness on the fact that I was listening to Somebody to Love while I wrote this. Blame Queen.
> 
> I lowkey can’t believe I did this challenge again (successfully! ish... let’s ignore all the typos I’m sure I missed in my very quick proof-reads 😅) but hey. Now I can ignore all my WIPs for the next three months guilt-free, telling myself I wrote more than enough in June to last me until at least September.
> 
> I’m kidding. I won’t do that. Probably.
> 
> Anyway! My rambling aside, thank you so much to everybody who read this - and happy Pride! (Hopefully next year won’t be quite as weird...) I hope you enjoyed this entirely self-indulgent fic.
> 
> You can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/notcrypticbutcoy?lang=en) and [Tumblr](http://notcrypticbutcoy.tumblr.com)
> 
> Much love,  
> Lu <3


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